But Life Does Not A Happy Ending Make
by Autumn Rayne
Summary: Whatever ever after, that was life. Screw the fairy tale ending, Mary thought. There has never been and will never be such a thing. Mary collapsed onto the bed, pulling her pillow close to her body. She buried her face in its softness and cried. And cried and cried and cried.
1. Chapter 1

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**a/n:** There was no threat of closing the WitSec office so Stan is still the chief and Marshall is still Mary's partner. Marshall and Abigail are still engaged, and the dreaded conversation on the balcony did indeed take place (sorry). Characters become OOC at some points. The only one who really has an excuse for this is Mary because she was supposed to have character development through learning life's lessons…Right? This takes place about a month after the finale. Which month that is…I'm not sure. Norah was born I'm going to guess in March or April, and when the S5 premiere aired, it was supposed to be six months later. Which puts the finale in September…ish. Which puts my story in October. I guess that's what I'm going with. Anyway, flashbacks are in italics. I own nothing except errors (…figures). Spoilers from S3 finale through series finale, but, let's face it, anything at this point is fair game. Reviews are greatly appreciated. Criticism is as well, just don't poke too many hole in my balloon. Thank you, in advance, to all readers. Please enjoy my meek contribution.

Rated T, for now, for attitude and language.

**Summary:**

Whatever ever after, that was life. _Fuck the fairy tale ending,_ she thought. _There has never been and will never be such a thing. _Mary collapsed onto the bed, pulling her pillow close to her body. She buried her face in its softness and cried. And cried and cried and cried.

**CHAPTER ONE**

As a U.S. marshal for the Federal Witness Protection Program, Mary Shannon had learned many things that, seemingly odd, were crucial to her line of work. Sleeping techniques, though not something officially taught, had been one of those things. When transferring or guarding a witness, Mary needed to sleep lightly. She learned how to sleep with the proverbial one eye open, balancing her body's need for rest with the job's need for awareness of surroundings. Mary always looked forward to the first night home after such events when she could bury herself in the plump pillows and heavy down blankets of her bed and saw as many logs as she felt necessary.

Despite that specific marshal 'training', Mary could not make it work for the two weeks of sleep deprivation through which she had suffered, or for the weeks she knew were still to come. She fought with her head, arguing that sleeping lightly at home was no different from sleeping lightly in the field. Her head, however, refused to listen, anxiously perched on the edge of unconsciousness, waiting for the smallest of sounds to ignite the fuse and propel her body into action.

Norah, Mary's eight-month-old daughter, woke every couple of hours during the night crying through the agony of teething, those tiny little teeth working so hard to push through soft, pink gums. Courtesy of Brandi, Mary's eight-month-pregnant sister, outbursts of a different kind accompanied Norah's painful ones. Brandi's incessant need to relieve her baby-abused bladder was a fifteen-minute production of sounds. After the first night, Mary had the lines memorized; staring at the ceiling as she quietly mouthed the words. _'Groaning sister, squeaky mattress, creaky floor boards, clacking door latch, flushing toilet, running water, clacking door latch, creaky floor boards, squeaky mattress, groaning sister.'_ Mary had some sympathy for Brandi, having gone through the same while pregnant with Norah. Mary's sympathy, however, went only so far when she spotted Brandi with her twelfth or thirteenth bottle of water for the day. _"You know, there is such a thing as too much of a good thing." _Mary's advice was cynical and always pushed aside with a smile and a tip of the water bottle.

Mary slipped a dark green shirt over her head and picked up her hairbrush from beside the bathroom sink. Pulling the brush through her long blonde hair, Mary listened to the voice of her mother coming from the bedroom down the hall. Jinx had taken to her role of grandmother with great vigor. She saw her time with Norah as a way to make amends, to be the mothering personality she couldn't be when Mary and Brandi were young. Mary knew even without the need to prove herself, Jinx would still have been a doting grandmother, all too willing to spoil whatever grandchildren with which she was blessed. With Jinx's dance studio closed on Wednesdays, she quickly claimed the day to babysit Norah.

Leaving the bathroom, Mary stopped in the doorway of her bedroom, quietly watching grandmother and granddaughter. She shook her head and smiled. Even though Mary had issued several warnings of 'no baby talk', Jinx cooed away happily, her inflection implying that being a stinky little girl was a wonderful thing. There was no point in changing how Jinx interacted with Norah. Mary knew once she was out of sight, Jinx would revert to doing things her own way. And somewhere, deep down, Mary supposed she was all right with that. She continued down the hallway, turning into the kitchen.

"Ugh!" Mary hollered. "What the hell is all of this?"

"Flowers," Brandi said as she moved around the kitchen, pouring water into each of the three dozen colorful pots that littered the countertops and table. "They've been trickling in over the last few days. You would have noticed if you had been home from work at a decent hour," Brandi taunted. "They're from Mom's friends in Florida for Dad's funeral." Mary looked around the room, frowning.

"Okay, first, it wasn't a funeral; it was a fake wake…a month ago. And second…" Mary cocked her head to the side as she looked at her sister. "Mom had this many friends in Florida?" Brandi nodded. "Wow. That must have been one hell of an AA meeting."

"Mary," Brandi scolded with a small smile.

"Where's the fruit bowl?" Mary started digging through the flowers on the table. "I don't get the sending of the flowers. 'Hey, sorry you lost someone you loved. Here's a bunch of flowers that are going to wilt and shrivel. Let me show my sympathy by sending you something else that's dead.'" Mary pulled her hand from the midst of the flowers and held an apple triumphantly in the air.

"Mary, Mary, Mary," Brandi said shaking her head and setting the watering can into the sink.

"What?"

"When are you going to ask the Wizard for a heart?" she asked, crossing her arms over her growing stomach.

"When you ask him for a brain." Brandi caught site of their mother entering the kitchen, Norah on her hip.

"Mom, Mary's making fun of me."

"She started it," Mary said, biting into her apple.

"Girls, girls. No fighting in front of the little one." Jinx moved to Brandi's side and rubbed her daughter's stomach. "Soon to be plural," she said with a smile. Both daughters rolled their eyes. Jinx sighed and placed her hand on her free hip. "At least pretend for your mother's sake that you like each other."

"Yeah, like that's going to happen," Mary teased. "Bye, Bug." She placed a soft kiss on her daughter's forehead. "Bye, Mom," she said, placing a kiss on her mother's cheek. Mary stood behind Brandi, leaning over her sister's shoulder and planting a very loud smooch on her cheek.

"Ah! Yuck!" Brandi squealed, trying to lean away.

"Bye, Squish." Mary grabbed her bag and slung the strap over her shoulder as she walked to the front door. Turning and taking the last few steps backwards, she pointed at her sister. "See?" she started, a mouth full of apple. "I do have a heart."

**^m*m^**

Marshall Mann had called Mary Shannon on her bullshit from day one, never flinching when she returned the challenge. He quickly learned how to counter her aggressive personality, finding the right balance between letting her win and letting her think she won. Three months into their partnership, Marshall was starting to get the feeling that Mary had figured out his tactic. It was during one of their most intense arguments that he had suspicions confirmed. Though she had never said the words, he caught her admission in the brief smile she allowed to break across her lips. Marshall couldn't remember what had started the argument, but he had certainly not forgotten the way it ended.

_"That's not what I said," Marshall defended, his anger starting to get the better of him._

_ "Um, yes, it is." Mary looked at him and mouthed a silent 'duh'._

_ "No, that's where you're wrong. I said—"_

_ "Guess what, Marshall?" Mary sneered before tossing back the shot of tequila. "I don't give a rat's ass." Mary slid the empty glass in front of Marshall, hopped off the barstool, and made her way to the door._

"_How can you not care?" he called after her. Frowning, Marshall swallowed his shot, trying to remember how many he had downed, and followed Mary out of the bar. His anger was close to full-grown over Mary's flippant attitude, blaming him for words he never uttered. "I never said that," he mumbled to himself._

_Mary pulled her cell phone from her back pocket and called a cab. They roamed the dirt parking lot for several minutes in silence, circling each other as though preparing for an attack. Marshall took the opportunity, for the third time that night, to admire Mary's clothing. With the anticipation of the late-night summer heat, Mary chose to wear a white tank top with her blue jeans. It hugged her body nicely, something Marshall secretly appreciated. Mary stopped moving, hooked her fingers in the back belt loops of her jeans and leaned into one hip._

_ "Take a picture, Partner," she joked. She had caught him staring, but he would have to worry about those consequences later; he had a discussion of a different kind with which to contend._

_ "You should care, Mary," he said, rehashing the argument. "Your life could be in danger someday, dependent upon me for salvation." He smirked. "And I won't save your sorry ass because you won't let me explain what I said."_

_ "Oh, so now you're admitting that you __**did**__ say that?"_

_ "No," he said slowly. "No. Quit putting words in my mouth, Mare."_

_ "I'm not putting words __**in**__ your mouth, Marshall. I'm just repeating the words that are coming __**out**__ of your mouth."_

_ "Mary." Marshall took a slow breath, Mary quietly enjoying Marshall so close to losing control. "I said-"_

_ "Did you not hear what __**I**__ said?" she asked, descending upon him and poking his chest to punctuate her words. The yellow cab pulled into the parking lot a few feet behind Mary. Marshall started forward, slowly backing Mary towards the vehicle._

_ "I heard every word you said. But, guess what, Mare?" Her back hit the cab and Marshall rested his hand on the windows to either side of her shoulders. He leaned forward, forcing eye contact before continuing. "I don't give a rat's ass," he mocked angrily. Mary smiled a brief but devious smile. Marshall tilted his head slightly and studied her. When he caught the sparkle in her eyes, he knew he had been played. Mary pushed Marshall back a step and opened the cab's door._

_ "My place?" he asked, though he already knew the answer. "I'm assuming I'll be driving you to your house in the morning to get the Purple Probe of Death." Mary shook her head._

_ "You're taking me home in the morning to shower and change and then you're taking me to work." She smiled, allowing the grin to stay on her lips this time. "My reward for goading you into this argument. You almost blew your stack, Inspector," she teased. As Mary turned to slip into the cab, Marshall caught her arm and pinned her against the inside of the door._

_ "You…conniving blonde woman," he whispered. Mary beamed._

_ "And don't you forget it."_

Marshall sighed as he replayed that memory. If he had not realized it before that point, that night solidified the fact that Mary had forever changed his life. He, too, had changed hers. Their partnership spilled over into their personal lives, each becoming a best friend to the other. They went out to dinner; they went out for drinks. They shared nachos and a soda, always Marshall's treat, at the occasional Isotopes baseball game. One night, over cheaply priced beer, Mary admitted that it was easy for her to be herself around Marshall. She had never trusted partners, friends or family members the way she trusted him. Her admission deeply moved him. He understood that he was the only person she allowed to see the real Mary. Marshall knew it had not been easy for her to acknowledge that revelation to herself, let alone say the words to him. Emotions and affections were not her strong suits.

So when Marshall came to the realization that he had fallen in love with Mary, he decided to keep those feelings to himself. The friendship they shared was too important to both of them and he feared losing Mary all together if he flat out said, "I love you." Marshall bit his tongue through boyfriends, one-night stands and a marital engagement until he could no longer bare the pain. His wanted his confession to be heartening, not alarming, so he purposely made it cryptic as to not scare away his partner.

_ "If you feel like you need to get something out of your system," he said, approaching her desk. "If you need to go 'do some cowboy'…"_

_ "What?" she asked, prompting him to continue._

_ "You've done the cowboy," he finally said. "And when you weren't doing the cowboy, you __**were**__ the cowboy – like with Raph." He couldn't hold back that insult. "You don't need to let off steam. What you need is…" Mary tilted her head slightly to one side. Confusion crossed her features but Marshall knew he had her full attention and pressed on. "I get that you don't like messy, but maybe messy is what you need. Maybe instead of just __**anyone**__, you should be looking for __**someone**__." Mary mouthed the word 'someone' as Marshall continued his speech. "Someone who challenges you. Who calls you on your B.S. and gets in your face and…makes you think." He noticed a shift in Mary, and worried that he had gone too far, said too much. "What?"_

_ "What? I'm thinking," she replied, breaking from her reverie. Marshall, stunned by her answer, wondered if she understood what he was saying or if she was truly thinking. He stopped talking, deciding not to finish baring his heart until he knew that answer._

Marshall had tried to tell himself that if Mary really cared about him, however she represented that care, she would be able to connect the dots. But, for reasons unknown to Marshall, Mary didn't acknowledge what he had said and his worst fear began. The rift he wanted so badly to avoid opened and every good, bad and indifferent occurrence during the next two years of their lives splayed the rift beyond repair.

"Marshall? Is something wrong with your eggs?" Marshall blinked and looked to the lovely face of his bride-to-be. "You're not eating," she observed, leaning on the kitchen counter.

"Oh." He looked at his plate and shook the musings from his head. "No, Abigail, the eggs are…they're fine," he lied. "I think I'm just a little out of focus this morning," Marshall smiled.

"Well, you better wake that sleepy head up and finish your breakfast or you'll be late for work," Abigail said cheerfully through her southern accent.

"Work, right." Marshall forced a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth, purposely swallowing without chewing, and quickly followed them with some orange juice. "I have to go, Abs." He wiped his napkin over his mouth and stood. "I forgot we have an early meeting this morning."

"Okay, well, call me if you can do lunch today."

"I will." Marshall rounded the counter and kissed Abigail. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Marshall reached into his pocket for his car keys. "Oh, Marshall?" Abigail called as he reached the front door. "Don't forget to ask Mary about the wedding." He nodded and smiled, but the smile faded as the door closed behind him.

**^m*m^**

Marshall sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. He sat back in his chair staring across the desk and through the window to the balcony of the Sunshine Building. He should have, those two years ago, pulled Mary onto that balcony and said, "Maybe _I_ am what you need." Instead, he continued to keep his feelings under wrap. Mary took a vacation, heading to Mexico with FBI Agent Mike Faber, who wanted nothing more than to add her to his list of cowgirls. Marshall didn't know what to do, what to think, what to say. Did Mary understand what Marshall had been trying to tell her? Was she running from his obscure profession? Did she run because she didn't feel the same way? Did she run because she did? Maybe she didn't get it, in which case, Marshall was pissed that she had been so blasé about running away with a guy she didn't know.

Marshall harbored his anger and frustration and, in classic 'chicken or the egg' fashion, their relationship became awkward which limited their time together outside of work, which only served to strain the relationship more. The two settled uncomfortably into the vicious cycle. During this "life without Mary," Marshall met Abigail Chaffee, a detective for the ABQ police department. He turned his usual time with Mary into time with Abigail. She was smart and funny, beautiful and charming with a soft, southern mannerism, and he soon found himself in love with the brown-haired detective.

Despite the strange tension between the marshals, Mary reverted to old habits, throwing out wisecracks about Abigail. _"Oh, how cute. Hardy Boy Marshall is in love with Nancy Drew."_ It was Mary's way of telling Marshall she didn't want to be on the outs with him anymore. The tension seemed to ease and after a few months, Marshall no longer felt the anger towards Mary or himself, and believed the rift was finally beginning to close.

Then Mary found out she was pregnant, consequence of a one-night stand with her ex-husband, and Marshall knew the rift had irreparably opened. Marshall's nearly extinguished hope of having a relationship with Mary had officially reached the point of no return. Understandably, he had taken a back seat to a more important responsibility called Norah. He adored Mary's little girl and he happily let it show. But, he recognized the time as one to move on. And move on, he did. A few more months of being with Abigail, he asked for her hand in marriage.

"What are you staring at, Doofus?" Marshall turned his eyes from the balcony to his feisty blonde partner. Her smile faded to a look of concern. "You don't look well, Marshall. Did Abigail make scrambled eggs for breakfast again?"

"Good morning, Mary," Marshall drawled. "And what has made you such a lovely ray of sunshine this morning?" Mary's expression sobered. She took a deep breath and shook her head as she looked at Marshall.

"Just tired." Marshall knew it wasn't the entire truth but he didn't push. "It's been a long couple of nights." She moved to her desk, dropping her bag next to the chair. Marshall nodded and sat forward, leaning his arms on his desk. "Teething baby, pregnant sister, surgery-prone witness," she said, waving a dismissive hand. "She practically owns the east wing of the hospital."

"How _did_ the whole surgery thing go with Marla?"

"It went well," she answered. "I just wish her appendix would have exploded earlier in the day instead of at six in the evening. I didn't make it home last night until a little after eleven." Marshall laughed.

"I'm sure the next time a witness' appendix bursts, it will better fit into your schedule, Mare."

"One can only hope." Mary reached into her purse for her ringing cell phone. "Hmm, speaking of bursting..." She held the phone to her ear. "Hey, Brandi." Marshall shook his head, watching Mary as she spoke with her sister.

Abigail and Mary were different in so many respects, but each was just as captivating. They both needed him, Mary as a friend, Abigail as a husband, and he wanted to be there in completion for each woman. He wasn't, however, able to find that happy medium. Time with one took away from time with the other. Marshall needed a solution before he lost both of the women he loved. Abigail pleaded with Marshall, asking him to loosen the tie he had with Mary. He knew it was the only way to keep his friendship and his marriage intact. Marshall's attention wandered again to the balcony where he stood with Mary a little over a month ago.

"_This," he started waving his hands between them, "what we have, it's undefinable, and up until now nothing's ever come along to jeopardize that."_

"_Marshall, you're my best friend. You're my only friend. I mean, forget friend, you're-" Mary shrugged. "You know."_

"_I know. I love that. But that's the problem." Mary nodded._

"_Because you're getting married," she supplied._

"_Yeah. I'm getting married. I love Abigail deeply, and because I do…that's why I need you to do something for me."_

Mary had taken Marshall's request for some space better than he had expected. Mary surprised him with her blessing, saying she wanted him to have the happiness he deserved. He believed her to be genuine; he just hadn't expected to hear the words.

"How's Brandi?" he asked as he heard Mary's phone hit her desk.

"Still pregnant," Mary shrugged. "So, my kitchen has turned into a fricken green house," she said, quickly changing the subject. "Feel free to come over and relieve me of the damned vegetation. I'm sure Nancy Drew would love some fresh dandelions around the house." Marshall feigned a laughed at her crack.

"What are you up to today?" he asked.

"Um, I'm making my rounds today. I just came by to grab a couple of files." Marshall watched as Mary yanked open the top desk drawer. She sifted through the file folders, pulling three from the drawer. Mary picked up her bag, throwing it on the table and shoving the folders inside. "There," she declared. "Got 'em."

"Would you like some company?" he asked, standing and moving to the front of the desks.

"Nah, you wouldn't have any fun." Marshall raised his eyebrows. "I'm not visiting the assholes until tomorrow," she clarified.

"Mary." Marshall stepped in front of Mary as she rounded her desk.

"Marshall, you're blocking my path to the door."

"I know." Mary crossed her arms in front of her chest, leaned on one hip and titled her head to the side.

"Are you purposely looking to get your ass kicked today?"

"Funny. You've just been…I don't know." Marshall paused. "I just want to know what's going on; that you're all right." Mary regarded him a long moment before speaking.

"I'm fine, Marshall," she smiled. "Never been better." Mary sidestepped Marshall and headed towards the door. He turned with a sigh and watched her leave. He knew exactly what was wrong. Since their talk, Marshall had been decreasingly privy to the details of Mary's family life. She no longer complained about Brandi's whining or Jinx's meddling. She no longer told him stories about Norah. Even when Marshall initiated the conversation, Mary's answers remained short and vague. He appreciated that Mary was trying to honor his wishes, but, in the process, she was pushing him completely away.

**^m*m^**

"Oh, I am so sorry this place is such a mess," Carissa said, straightening the three magazines on the coffee table. Mary looked around, failing to find anything out of place or covered in dust.

"Your apartment looks just fine, Carissa. Really. And you certainly don't need to clean on my account."

"Nonsense. Sit, sit." Carissa motioned Mary towards the couch. "With everything that you have done for Greg and I, the least I can do is make my home presentable when you visit." Mary offered a close-lipped smile.

"Okay, thank you." Greg walked into the living room, handing Mary a glass of iced tea. She accepted with a nod. "So, how have things been going so far?" she asked.

"Oh, wonderfully," Carissa answered as she sat in the love seat across from Mary. "I love my job at the library and Greg just adores the restaurant." Greg sat next to his wife.

"Everyone said those summer school cooking classes would just be a waste of my time, but look at me now," he said with a smile. "I have a job that just happens to be my favorite hobby!"

"Great," Mary nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the Brady Bunch personalities. The two were so young, barely over twenty, and still very naïve. They had been married only three months, just starting to plan their lives together when they were thrust into Witness Protection Program for witnessing the murder of a corrupt city mayor. "How about the house hunting?"

"Well, we are so glad you asked. Carissa and I made an offer for a beautiful three-bedroom ranch. It was accepted and we close on Friday."

"It's spacious but so cozy," Carissa added. "It is the perfect place to raise our family." Mary caught the excited look on her witness' faces and decided she would play along. Setting the glass on the coffee table, she hummed thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm going to guess by the use of 'our family' instead of 'a family' that you are pregnant."

"I'm pregnant!" Carissa confirmed.

"I keep telling her she won't be able to hold that secret for long. She had such a glow about her." Greg leaned over and kissed his wife's cheek. Mary might not have appreciated the happy-go-luckiness of the couple, but she could see the joy in their eyes. They were very much in love and excited to welcome a little one into their lives.

"Wow, congratulations," Mary said with a soft smile. "That's wonderful news." There had been a couple of handfuls of witnesses over the years to announce the expectance of a child, but Mary knew this was the first time she was sincere in her salutations.

**^m*m^**

"Marla? It's Mary," she started when she heard her witness' voice over the phone. Mary slowed her vehicle to a stop behind a silver open-topped convertible waiting at the red-lit intersection. "How are you feeling today?"

_ "Better than I was yesterday,"_ Marla answered weakly. _"The doctor has given me some really, really good pain medication."_ Mary laughed and switched the phone to her other ear.

"The doctor says you can go home tomorrow morning, provided nothing else in your body explodes. Of course, you've had three surgeries in the past six months which, I think, makes your next one free."

_ "Well, as nice as it sounds to not have a hospital bill to pay, I don't think I'll be going after that offer anytime soon."_

"Do you have someone who can stay with you for the next couple of days? You know, bend at your every whim until you are functional again?" Marla laughed lightly.

_ "Yeah. My boyfriend is going to stay with me."_

"Oh, you have a boyfriend?" Mary asked with surprise. "When did this happen?"

_ "I met him about…four months ago. He's so sweet, Mary. You'll like him."_

"Yeah, I've heard that before." Mary took a breath. "Does he know?"

_ "No, I'm not going to tell him. I didn't do anything wrong, Mary. I just…I'm glad that I could help put that drug dealer behind bars, but now that the trial is over, I just want to live a normal life. You know, fall in love, get married, have kids. I want that fairy tale ending." _ Mary could almost see the white picket fence floating through Marla's head.

"Hmm. Let me tell you something about fairy tales," Mary mumbled.

_"What was that?"_

"Nothing. Listen, I'll stop by around eight-thirty tomorrow and get you out of that hell hole before they serve breakfast." Marla laughed.

_"That sounds good. Scrambled eggs that taste like cardboard are not really my favorite."_ Mary said her good-byes and ended the call. She watched the four young men in the convertible. She guessed they were seventeen or eighteen. They each wore t-shirts with the sleeves cut off and had an arm hanging over the top of their respective doors, no doubt trying to show off the muscles they thought they had. The car's radio was so loud that if Mary had not known better she would have sworn they were on stage in the middle of a Kiss concert. The light turned green but the convertible stayed in place.

"What the fuck?" Mary muttered. She hit the steering wheel, blaring the non-threatening horn of her mini-van. They teenagers turned around to look at her, and raised their middle fingers. "Really?" Mary smiled to herself. She reached towards the passenger seat, digging in her bag for her badge and her gun. She held both in the window for the young men to see. Mary laughed as the car sped through the intersection. "Ha! Take that."

**^m*m^**

Mary left the apartment building and wandered the sidewalk to her mini-van. As she climbed into the driver's seat, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She sighed as she dialed and waited for her chief to pick up. Marshall normally accompanied her for follow-up visits, even when he was not the one officially assigned to the witnesses. These days seemed now to be longer and not so tolerable. Though it was only five-thirty, Mary felt as though it was closer to midnight. She would never admit it to Marshall, but she was bored and lonely without his company.

"Hey, Boss," Mary said, pushing Marshall from her mind. "I'm checking in."

_ "Really? Since when do you, Mary Shannon, check in?"_ Mary couldn't help mocking Stan as he spoke.

"Ha, ha, funny. I'm done badgering my witnesses. Finally," she added.

_ "Anything to report?"_

"Three babies on the way, one engagement and a pain in the ass that just won't do me a favor and die."

_ "Oh, Mary. It's so hard to believe that you haven't driven Marcus to that point already."_ Stan remained quiet for a moment. _"I see you have a couple of nasties to deal with tomorrow. You're going to take Marshall with you, right?"_

"Why? I can handle myself, Stan. I'm sure Marshall has his own witnesses to see."

_"I'm sure he does. Maybe while the two of you are out and about tomorrow, Marshall can explain to you the meaning of 'rhetorical'." _

"Fine," she grumbled. "Stan, I'm half a mile from my house. Can I just head home for the night? I promise to return all of my paperwork in the morning. Intact and filled out, just for you."

_ "Mary, are you trying to prepare me for some bad news? Are you sick? Are you dying? I mean, checking in, willingly filling out your paperwork…"_

"Stan," Mary laughed at the chief's smart-ass remarks.

"_Have a good night, Inspector."_

"Thanks, Stan." Mary ended the call and leaned her head against the headrest. She smiled as she checked the time display on her phone, happy that she would be home in time to have supper with her daughter.

**^m*m^**

"Look, Norah! Mommy's home!" Brandi's singsong voice greeted Mary as she closed the front door.

"Hi, Squish." She dropped her purse on the floor by the coat rack and reached for the little one in Brandi's arms. "Hi, Bug," she said, kissing the baby's temple. "How did it go today?" Mary asked as they headed towards the kitchen.

"We had a great time," Brandi said excitedly.

"Where's Mom?"

"She went home to change. Norah graced her with some up-chucked green beans. She should be back soon." Mary stopped in the kitchen's opening, lifting her head as she sniffed the air.

"What…is that smell?" she asked. The scent was pleasant, but not expected in her home.

"Surprise! Norah and I made supper!" Brandi clapped her hands and bounced on her heels. "It's a hamburger and potato casserole topped with green beans and a little bit of cheese on the top." Brandi poked Norah's tummy, eliciting a giggled sigh from the infant. "It's better than it sounds," she told Mary. "Promise."

"I believe you, Squish. It smells great."

"Oh! And we made apple pie for dessert." Brandi glanced at the stove's timer. "The casserole is almost ready. Why don't I take Norah and you can go wash up."

"Um, okay." Mary passed her daughter to Brandi and wandered into the bathroom with a flabbergasted shake of her head. Brandi had done a lot of growing up since learning of her pregnancy. She swore to Mary that drugs, alcohol and partying were things of her past. Having heard that declaration at any other point in their lives, Mary would have laughed herself to death. This time, however, Mary believed her sister. The two months following Brandi's return to Albuquerque had proven to be a huge step in the right direction.

_ "What's this?" Mary asked, looking over the check._

_ "Its first month's rent and my share of the utilities," Brandi replied. "I snooped through your bills," she shrugged._

_ "Why? Squish, I don't need this." Mary handed the check back to her sister._

_ "Mary, listen. I know that you don't need the money. But __**I**__ need to do this." Brandi took a breath. "I am going to be a mother…very soon. I need to be…more responsible for myself so that I can be responsible for the baby. I have a good chunk of money set aside from when I was in Florida. It's enough to pay for rent, groceries and temporary health insurance for me and the baby for the next seven months." Mary leaned a hip against the kitchen counter, thoughtful as Brandi spoke. "And I have a babysitter lined up so I can start my new job after the baby is born." Brandi smiled proudly._

_ "You have a job?" Mary asked skeptically._

_ "Yeah. My friend, Jeanette, she has a flower shop that she's expanding. She just leased the new space last week and she said when renovations are complete and she's moved in she'll hire me." Mary nodded. "I can babysit Norah. And I will take care of everything around the house. I'll do laundry and I'll clean and do dishes. I'll even make supper-"_

_ "Okay, okay. One thing at a time, Squish." Mary sighed. "All right. I'll take rent… for now."_

Mary considered ripping up the checks as she received them, but she realized Brandi could not learn how to be financially responsible unless she used her money in real world scenarios. Mary took the first month's rent and grocery money and set up a savings account for Brandi's baby.

Mary wandered into her bedroom and dug through the dresser for her worn blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. As she changed, she thought about Marshall's words to her that morning.

"_You've just been…I don't know. I just want to know what's going on; that you're all right."_

Mary sighed loudly. For once, she was being the friend that Marshall needed, the one that did the favor without teasing or arguing. She would let him know, if the time came, when something was deathly wrong, but until then, he had no right to ask how she was doing.

_ "__I need you to release me," Marshall started, unwilling to meet her eyes until he let all of the words leave his mouth. "I need to be free enough to have a life with Abigail, and I need you to be okay enough for that to happen, because if you call I'll come." He looked at her then. "Every time."_

"_Well, I don't know a lot these days," she joked. "All I know is that more than anything in the whole world, I want you to be happy. So, I'm going to say this once and only once. I want you to marry Abigail. She makes you happy. I like her and I like you together."_

Mary meant every word she had said to Marshall. She did want him to be happy. He was a wonderful man, loving and selfless, who deserved to have someone love him in return. And she did like Abigail, even though she took almost every opportunity to pick on the young detective. Releasing Marshall was something Mary knew would be difficult, but she made the necessary changes almost immediately. She made sure she never called Marshall unless the call was work-related. She kept all complaints about Jinx and Brandi's troubles to herself. She even went as far as to limit what she told Marshall of Norah. She knew her partner cared deeply for the little girl and Mary did not want her daughter becoming a thorn between Marshall and Abigail.

The transition was turning into a long and hurtful one. Mary never depended on anyone, not willing to be victim to the inevitable fall that came with entrusting oneself to another person. It was a lesson, thanks to her parents, she learned the hard way. Marshall was the only one she voluntarily opened to; he was too important to be in the same category as everyone else who had hurt her. Before Marshall would ever have the opportunity to crush her trust, something she believed he would never purposely do, Mary let go.

"Mary, Mom's here! And dinner is ready!"

"I'll be right there, Squish." Mary pulled the cuff of her sleeve over her hand and dried the tears from her eyes. She hated herself for the way she was feeling. She couldn't identify every emotion running through her head and that made it worse. She had spent too many nights in the last two months, crying herself to sleep for reasons she didn't really understand. Mary never felt control slip so easily from her grasp.

Mary neared the kitchen, taking a deep breath to steady herself before sitting at the table with the other three Shannon women. She noted the flowers that had occupied the kitchen table were gathered neatly in the corner of the living room. Norah sat comfortably in her bouncer on top of the table, Jinx to Mary's left, Brandi across the table from Mary. She imagined the scene before her through the eyes of her nine-year-old self. She could see two blonde-haired pig-tailed girls laughing and giggling, fighting maybe, their father taking a seat at the table, Jinx bringing the food. It was a picture quickly forgotten, though. Mary knew better than to dwell on what never was.

"Squish, this looks great," Mary said as Brandi set a healthy scoop of casserole on Mary's plate. Brandi smiled. Mary realized at that moment that her family's past was becoming less and less relevant. Here she sat with her mother, her sister, her daughter. Everyone healing, together, from their father's death and misdeeds; everyone healthy, drug and alcohol free; everyone happy with the addition of Norah and Brandi's baby to the clan. What mattered the most was the future in front of them, not the past behind them.

"Oh, Norah." Mary stood and unbuckled Norah from the bouncer, the little one now covered in the green beans that had not been released on Jinx earlier.

"No, no. You girls eat. I'll take care of Norah." Jinx removed the infant from Mary's arms and headed down the hallway. Mary sat down.

"Squish, listen," Mary said once they were alone. "I don't mean to keep harping on you about this." Brandi shot Mary a disbelieving roll of her eyes. "Seriously, Squish. I think you should tell the father." She pointed her fork towards Brandi's stomach.

"Mary, I don't know if—"

"Brandi, I just don't want you to miss out on something that could be so right for you."

"Right for me? You don't even know who the father is." Mary gave her sister a blank look.

"You may be able to fool everyone else, Squish, but I'm a U.S. marshal. I see all." Mary's eyes widened and she made an exaggerated encompassing motion with her hands. "Plus, I can do the math." Brandi smiled, but sadly. "You're due in the middle of November. Minus nine months…Your fiancé knocked you up right before your _wedding_." Mary's fingers curled in the air, making mock quotations.

"I don't want to tell him, Mary. What if…What if he hates me for this?"

"I don't think Peter is capable of hating you for any reason. Jesus, there were practically red hearts floating over his head when he was around you." Mary wiggled her fingers about her head. "I'll go with you, if you want me to go. Brandi…" Mary leaned across the table and took her hand. "Don't let something so good just slip away." Brandi felt the tears slip from her eyes. She didn't know if she was crying for herself or for her sister, whose face clearly bore the pain of the mistake she willed Brandi not to make.

"Mary, I see things, too, you know." Mary straightened and started to pull her hand from Brandi's. "Don't," Brandi said, gently squeezing Mary's fingers. "That's all I'm going to say about it. I'll never bring it up again. I just, you know." Mary nodded and relaxed a little. Both women relinquished their hold on each other and returned to eating their meals. "Would you call Peter?" Brandi asked. "Set up a time to see him?"

"Of course, Squish. Of course I will."

"Someday, Mary, I will be able to repay you for everything you've done for me." Brandi rose from her chair and stood behind Mary. She leaned over, wrapping her arms around Mary's shoulders. "I love you, Mary," she whispered. Mary hesitated a brief moment before settling a hand on her sister's arm. Mary didn't like hugs, but she was finding herself oddly comfortable with and enjoying her sister's affections. Mary leaned her temple on Brandi's forehead.

"I love you, too, Squish."


	2. Chapter 2

a/n: Hi. Let me thank you for reading and leaving reviews! I'm very grateful. Also, let me thank you for your patience. A block away from my house is a five-mile stretch of road construction. We're talking no concrete anywhere in that five miles, just lots of dirt and holes so deep one can barely see the top of the bobcats. They seem to be replacing every inch of pipe in that five miles. It's like building a road from scratch. And, in the process, several of us have been without internet, cable and phone on and off for the last two weeks. So thank you for hanging in there! Flashbacks are in italics again, except for the one part when Mary's talking on the phone. You'll see it. And there are a few f-bombs along the way. Marshall is a little off kilter, but hey, I could so I did.

**Chapter Two**

_"Hmm, I could stay like this all day." Kenny tightened his hold on Mary and kissed her forehead._

_ "Yeah, well you have until I'm out of the shower, then you have to be lazy in your own house." Mary put her hand on Kenny's chest, pushing gently as she sat up. Holding the bed sheet to cover the top half of her body, Mary glanced at the alarm clock. "Okay, we have to stop the early morning escapades. I can't keep being late to work." She ran a hand partway through her tangled, blonde hair. "My boss is going to start asking questions."_

_ "So?" Kenny sat up and wrapped his arms around Mary's bare waist. "Tell him you were…" He whispered the end of his sentence in Mary's ear._

_ "Yeah," Mary scoffed. "That's exactly the conversation I don't want to have." She playfully pushed him away. "I have to shower."_

_ "Wait, wait." Kenny held her back once more. "Can I ask you something first?" Mary nodded. "I want more from this, Mary. From us. I know we've only been seeing each other for a couple of months, but…" Kenny shrugged. "Can we be more?"_

_ "How much more?" she asked. "Like a 'thing' more?"_

_ "Like a 'thing'," he nodded. "Like I can take you out for dinner and we can hold hands in public."_

_ "I hate to break it to you, Kenny, but I'm not a PDA kind of person." Kenny laughed._

_ "I know and I love that about you," he quipped. "But wouldn't it be nice to have a relationship developed enough to do so if you suddenly became a PDA kind of person?"_

_ "Oh, your hopes are high, aren't they?"_

_ "I'm serious." Kenny brushed the hair from Mary's face. "I…like you…a lot. And I would like to get to…like you a little bit more." Mary offered a shy smile. "I think we would both benefit from a different type of time together."_

_ "We're still going to do this type of time together, right?" Mary asked, her finger making a circle above the bed._

_ "Yes," Kenny stated. "We are certainly still going to do this time together." Mary nodded._

_ "Yeah, I think we can do more." Mary smiled as Kenny leaned in and kissed her. "Kenny," she laughed as he pushed her back onto her pillow._

_ "Shh," he whispered against her lips. "Tell your boss I'm sorry," he laughed. "You're going to be late to work again today."_

**^m*m^**

"You're crabby today." Marshall poked Mary's shoulder as they walked towards the SUV.

"I am _not_," Mary snapped. "And if you want to have continued use of that hand you won't use it to poke me again."

"Kids, don't try this at home," he mumbled, raising his other hand to poke Mary. She turned quickly and pinned Marshall with a glare. He held back his smile, anxious to hear which Mary-esque remark he had elicited.

"Grow up, Marshall." She continued through the parking lot.

"Geez, you're a little off on your game today," he pouted. He followed Mary to their SUV and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the engine and shifted the gear into reverse, pulling out of the parking space. "Did you get Marla home without incident this morning? No sudden latex allergies? No slip and fall in front of the nurses' station?" Mary shook her head and looked out the passenger window. "I'm surprised you didn't stay with her a little longer today. The last time she went to the hospital, you were at her apartment all day."

"Her boyfriend picked her up." Marshall noted the irritation in her voice. "He's staying with her."

"You don't sound like you approve of said boyfriend," he observed.

"He'll break her heart someday," she said absently.

"What makes you so sure?"

_"Marla?" Mary knocked softly on the door as she stepped lightly into the room. "Are you ready to get out of Dodge?"_

_ "Oh, am I ever." Marla smiled and tried to sit up a little straighter. "The nurses have already given me the discharge pages. They just need a signature from you, 'Next of Kin'," she laughed._

_ "Not a problem. Are you going to need me to stay at your apartment until your boyfriend comes over?" Mary asked. "I'm supposed to go on a mission with my partner and I'd rather not do that today."_

_ "Um, my boyfriend is going to take me home." Marla shrugged. "Thank you, though."_

"_Oh, well. Maybe next time," Mary smiled. "So, is he here now? Do I get to meet him?"_

_ "Yeah, he went in search of a cup of coffee. Mary, he is the best thing that has ever happened to me. He's so sweet and charming and—"_

_ "Hey, Sugar. Who's your…" Mary turned towards the voice in the doorway, the surprise over taking her features as the familiar-faced, brown-haired man came into view. "Friend?" he finished quietly._

_ "This is Mary, my cousin. I told you about her, remember?" The man in the doorway nodded. "Mary, this is Kenny, my boyfriend." Mary turned to Marla._

_ "Why don't I go sign those papers for you, huh?" Mary walked away from the bed, stopping at Kenny's side. Her voice was harsh but discreet as she spoke. "Didn't your father ever tell you if you're going to see a handful of women to limit it to one per family?"_

"They always do," Mary answered. Marshall waited for an explanation but Mary offered none.

**^m*m^**

Marshall slowed the SUV and parked along the curb. As he killed the engine and pulled the key from the ignition, he looked at Mary.

"Are you going to be your usual chipper self?" he asked, purposely pouring out the sarcasm.

"If you wanted chipper you should have stayed at the office." Mary exited the vehicle and started up the sidewalk. "Besides," she said when Marshall joined her side, "it's Asshole Day. They don't deserve chipper." Marshall followed her up the steps of the apartment building.

"Mary, Mary." He shook his head as he held open the door. Mary pointed at him in warning as she walked past.

"If you follow that with 'quite contrary' I'll shove my cockle shells up your ass." Marshall laughed.

"Did it ever occur to you that your asshole witnesses as such because you start it?" Mary paused in the hallway.

"Wow, Marshall." She looked up at her partner. "I never thought…I mean…Wow." She slapped him upside the head. "I don't have to be nice, Holly Hobby. I just have to keep my witnesses alive." Mary walked away.

"Can't you at least be nice to _me_?" Mary held her hand above her shoulder and extended her middle finger. Marshall rubbed the side of his head and smiled. "That's my girl," he whispered. Mary stopped in front of the door to apartment 4A and knocked loudly.

"Housekeeping!" she yelled. "Open the damned door!" Mary and Marshall waited through the sound of dead bolts clacking for the door to open.

"Mary, how nice to…Nope, I can't lie; it's not nice to see you." Mary pushed the door completely open and walked into the apartment, crinkling her nose as the scent of stale cigarette smoke hit her.

"Always a pleasure, Douggie." Mary surveyed the assortment of empty alcohol bottles on the coffee table. "I see you're still drinking like a fish." Doug smiled and motioned a thumb towards Marshall.

"I see you're still draggin' around the bean pole. When are you going to ditch him so you and I can have some fun?" He turned to Marshall, who remained in the doorway. Marshall smirked and pulled the right side of his suit coat from his side. Doug's eyes dropped to the gun on Marshall's hip. Mary stood next to Doug, titled her head to the side and smiled.

"Hmm. I sure do like what Bean Pole packs."

**^m*m^**

Mary and Marshall walked side by side out of the mechanics garage, Marshall wiping the tears from his eyes. Mary looked at him and shook her head.

"It wasn't that funny," she stated.

"No, no," he choked, trying to catch his breath. "It really was."

"It was gross."

"It was many things," Marshall conceded. "'Gross' being the second adjective I would use. 'Absolutely fucking hilarious' being the first." Marshall gently touched her arm. "I _love_ the affect you have on people."

"I didn't know he would piss his pants," Mary said.

"For some reason, I don't believe prior knowledge of that fact would have kept you from delivering that eloquent oration."

"Don't say 'oration'," she ordered. "And, yeah, it probably wouldn't have." Mary's cell phone rang as they neared the vehicle. "Oh, hold on. I have to take this." Mary moved a few feet away from Marshall as she answered the call. "Peter!" she greeted cheerfully, immediately snagging Marshall's attention.

_"Mary, how are you?"_

"I'm all right. How's the car business?"

_"Slow, but we're still in the black."_

"I am loving the mini-van," Mary smiled.

_"Didn't I tell you that you would?" Peter laughed. "Um, I was kind of surprised to hear from you."_

"Yeah, well. Listen." Mary took a moment. "I'm just going to come right out and say this. Brandi is back in town," Mary said. "She would really like to talk to you, Peter." She waited through the brief silence.

_ "Mary, I—"_

"Peter, I know that what happened with the two of you…well, it just plain sucked. But Brandi is—"

_ "Mary—"_

"—ready to face the conseque—"

_"Mary!"_ The firm tone of Peter's voice stopped Mary. _"I would love to see Brandi,"_ he said softly.

"You would?"

_ "Yes."_

"Wow. I thought I'd have to do a little more convincing." Peter snickered.

_"You had me when you left the 'call me' message this morning."_ Peter took a breath. _"Mary, I saw Brandi about a month ago at the grocery store."_

"So you know."

_"I know. And maybe I shouldn't be asking you this question, but…"_

Marshall leaned back against the front of the SUV, curious as Mary spoke with Peter. He was not surprised to hear Mary say Peter was the father of Brandi's baby, part of him had wondered that to be the case. He was surprised, however, by Mary's attitude. She spoke as though she was excited at the prospects of being an aunt, happy to hear from Peter and relate Brandi's news. She was different from the pessimistic, sarcastic Mary that had given Marshall the news.

_ "Oh! __**And**__…guess who's back and guess who's knocked up?" Marshall watched the 'can-you-believe-it' smile wash across Mary's face. "And if you guessed 'Brandi', you'd be right. __**Both**__ times," she added with sarcastic cheer._

"So Peter is the baby's father," Marshall said, nodding slowly as Mary ended the call.

"What? Are you eaves dropping now?" she scowled. Marshall ignored the look and continued, his tone not revealing his surprise.

"And look at you, playing matchmaker." Mary stopped in front of him, eyes absently roaming his shirt. She bit her lip before looking up and speaking.

"Somewhere along the line, a Shannon kid should have two parents who are in love and together." Mary moved to the passenger side of the SUV, climbed in and slammed the door. Marshall sighed and joined her in the vehicle. He pushed the key into the ignition, but did not turn over the engine.

"I'm sorry, Mary." Marshall stared through the windshield. "I didn't mean…" He dared a look at her as she dared a look at him.

"I know. I'm sorry," she said quietly. Marshall nodded and quickly changed the subject, willing the awkwardness to evaporate.

"How is the teething going?" Mary offered a small smile, looking down at her hands as she answered.

"The first one broke through yesterday."

"Hey, baby's first tooth," Marshall smiled. Mary nodded.

"There's one more on its way. I'm hoping it will break sometime this weekend while she's at Mark's." Marshall gave Mary a questioning look. "What? He's her father. He should be able to witness these important milestones, too." Marshall laughed.

"You just want him to be as sleep deprived as you are."

"Eh, maybe," she shrugged. "Anyway, he's picking her up tonight after he is done with work, bringing her back on Sunday, which gives me three days to catch up on some of that sleep."

"Great," Marshall perked. "Maybe you won't be so grouchy when you come to work on Monday." Mary turned back to Marshall and held out her hand.

"Hi. I'm Mary Shannon. Have we met?" Marshall batted her hand away.

"Point taken."

**^m*m^**

Marshall sat back in his chair, stretching his neck from side to side. Their witness visiting days were always long days, especially when they were visiting Mary's witnesses. Marshall, too, had a few difficult ones but his approach was much more appropriate and his patience was almost infinite compared to Mary's. The day marked the third in the last two months that Mary and Marshall needed to accompany each other. The first day had been normal, a day full of punches and smart-ass remarks; a day like any other. Two weeks later, during their second venture, Marshall could feel the strain. Mary was quick to change the subject when Marshall asked about her family. Today, as they drove around Albuquerque, Marshall felt as though the two feet of space separating them in the vehicle measured more like two galaxies. Not even when he first met Mary, had he ever felt so awkward next to her.

Marshall lightly tapped his pen on his desk, the empty office giving him opportunity to study his partner without interruption. Nearly seven, the sun had set forty minutes earlier, leaving the office dark, save for the light of their desk lamps. Mary's elbow rested on her desk, hand supporting her head, as she read a file. Every few minutes, she ran her hand through her hair in a futile attempt to keep it from falling in her face. The bright light from the desk lamp highlighted the errant strands of blonde hair that refused to lay nicely with the others. Mary's tousled look was always a sign that she needed some stress relief. Marshall hoped to use this to his advantage, wanting nothing more than an opening to get her talking again.

"Mare?" he called quietly. "Abigail's working late tonight. Why don't you and I go out for wings and a beer?"

"Um, I can't." Mary looked across the room to Marshall. "Norah," she simply said, smiling apologetically.

"You said Norah's at Mark's until Sunday." Marshall did not miss the flicker of panic that crossed Mary's face as she looked back to her papers.

"Um, Mark called earlier. He can't take her until tomorrow afternoon. Some work issues." Marshall left his pen on his desk as he stood. He walked around his desk, noting Mary's shoulders tense. Twice she glanced at him from the corner of her eye as he approached her chair. He gently removed her hands from the files and turned her chair to face him.

"Bullshit," he said as he leaned his hands on the arms of the chair. Mary stared up at him, somewhere between scared and angry. "You do realize that I've been with you all day, don't you? I know the only call you received was from Peter. Besides, you would have gone home by now if Norah was really there." Mary took a slow breath, trying to decide how to answer his challenge.

"I've been up all night every night this week with Norah, Marshall. I'm tired and I just want to go home." Mary tried to swivel the chair back towards her desk, but Marshall kept it still. "Marshall," she warned, looking off to the side.

"Mary." She looked back into her partner's calm face. "Stop using your daughter as an excuse and have dinner with me." Mary's uneasiness grew and she wondered when Marshall had become someone she feared. She sucked in a deep breath, unwilling to be prey to her anxiety, and stood, pushing Marshall back a step. She grabbed her coat from the back of her chair and her bag from the floor and rounded the far side of the desk. "Mary, don't you dare walk away from me."

"Don't I dare?" She leaned her hands on the desk, leaning over as she confronted Marshall. "Don't I dare? You know what, Marshall? Fuck you!" Mary headed for the door. "I can 'dare' do whatever I fucking please!" Marshall ran towards her. From over her left shoulder, he pushed his hand past her, pressing it against the door before she could yank it open.

"Stop it, Mary," he said evenly. She turned towards him and pushed against his chest.

"Move, Marshall," she yelled as he held his position.

"What's wrong?" he asked over her words.

"Nothing is wrong," she answered.

"Come on, Mare. Knock it off." Marshall leaned over her and lowered his voice. "You're not talking to me anymore." Mary heard the sadness in his voice, but she refused to acknowledge it.

"I talk to you every day, Dumbass," she snapped. "We work together."

"That's not what I mean and you know it." Marshall dropped his hand, straightened and tried again. "Let's grab something to eat. I have something I want to ask you, anyway." Mary bit her tongue, remembering the last time he had something to ask her.

_"This, what we have, it's undefinable…I __**love **__that…But that's the problem."_

"I need to go home, Marshall." Her voice was quiet, soft and afraid. Her eyes were no longer on his, rather fixed to a spot on the floor. She looked so far away and Marshall desperately wanted to know where 'far away' was.

_"So, shall we get on with the rest of our lives?" Mary hoped Marshall did not mean the words to sound so empty and dismissive, but when he started moving towards the door, her hope faltered._

"_You first," she said, hoping her face was not baring the pain she felt bubbling within. Marshall smiled and proceeded into the building, leaving Mary in the doorway, dying in a way she could not begin to fathom._

"Fine," Marshall whispered. He realized he would get nothing from Mary if she stayed in her state of reticence. He took a few steps back allowing Mary a quick exit from the office. Once inside the elevator and hidden by its closed doors, she fell back against the metallic wall and slid to the floor.

"Marshall, please," she begged into the silence. "I let you get on with your life. Let me get on with mine."

**^m*m^**

"Marshall? Did you make breakfast?" Abigail tied the belt of her pink robe around her waist as she strolled into the kitchen. "It smells wonderful." She stood on her toes and softly kissed Marshall's cheek. "What is all of this for?" she asked.

"Can't a man make a delightful breakfast for his fiancé without having a reason?" he returned.

"Yes, he most certainly can," she smiled. Marshall shooed her towards the table and pulled two plates from the cupboard. "Someday, you're going to teach me how to make those perfect omelets."

"They're not perfect," Marshall laughed.

"Yes, they are. They fold in half so nicely. They turn out to be a beautiful golden brown color." Abigail removed her hands from the table as Marshall set the plate in front of her. "When I try to make them, they end up more like burnt scrambled eggs." Marshall raised an eyebrow and Abigail laughed. "Okay, they _are_ burnt scrambled eggs. But at least I try."

"That you do," Marshall agreed. He set the second plate on the table and sat across from Abigail. He had not planned to make breakfast. The gesture purely came from the need of something to keep him occupied.

_ Marshall was restless, plagued with thoughts of Mary. Every time her harsh 'fuck you' replayed in his mind, the sickening, empty feeling consumed another piece of his heart. Sometime around two, when Marshall could no longer handle lying in the bed, he rose and started his morning routine. The hot shower initially relaxed his muscles and cleared his mind, but as the minutes continued to pass, the silence started to cover the sound of the water splashing on the basin, making room for more of Mary._

_ Quickly rinsing the shampoo from his hair, Marshall stepped out of the shower and wrapped a white towel around his waist. He leaned both hands on either side of the porcelain sink fighting back the nausea. He felt dizzy and suffocated, sick to his stomach as if his life was tortuously bleeding from his body. He looked up and stared into the mirror of the medicine cabinet, pushing his partner out of his head. He focused on his hair, flat and wet, hanging in front of his face. He grabbed a comb and manipulated his brown locks in every way that came to mind. Almost forty-five minutes passed before he quit experimenting and settled with his usual styling._

_ Marshall rubbed a hand over his cheek, the morning stubble pricking his palm. He considered letting the hair grow. He had not sported a goatee since his sophomore year of college; and he had never let it grow into a full beard. He smirked at his reflection, imagining all of the snide remarks Mary would send in his direction if he let it grow fully._

_ Closing his eyes and cursing for allowing Mary to seep again into his head, he reached for his razor and quickly disposed of the scruff._

"So if that's all right with you, I'll place the order."

"Yeah, Abs, that's fine." Abigail set her fork beside her plate and placed her hands in her lap.

"What's going on, Marshall?"

"What?"

"Yes, Marshall, 'what'. You didn't hear anything I said, did you?"

"No, Abigail, I'm sorry." She nodded and reached across the table for Marshall's hand.

"Are you feeling all right? I know you haven't been sleeping well the last couple of nights. And you're not eating." Marshall looked down at his plate, the first bite of his omelet remained on the fork. He felt Abigail's thumb rub the back of his hand. "Did you even eat anything yesterday? I know you didn't have more than a bite of breakfast."

"Um, no, I didn't," he answered.

"Maybe you should see your doctor," she offered.

"Abigail," Marshall sighed with irritation. He took a breath and collected his thoughts. "I'm fine, really," he said quietly. "It's just been a rough week at work." Marshall turned his hand palm up and gently squeezed Abigail's fingers. "I'm sorry to worry you."

"You know, Marshall, we both work law enforcement. You can talk to me if you need to."

"Thank you, Abs, but you know I can't."

"I don't understand why not."

"You, as a detective, know that…releasing certain information can put lives in jeopardy. I need you to trust me when I say I cannot talk about my job. Any part of it."

**^m*m^**

Stan McQueen leaned against the frame of the office window. The blinds were down, the slats tilted just enough for him to observe his marshals without being discovered. A fight between Mary and Marshall was a common occurrence. Stan learned quickly that these stand-offs were important pieces of the partnership. Sometimes they were stress relievers allowing the duo to restart on mental and physical levels. Sometimes they served as aids to wear out Mary, making it easier for Marshall to deal with her almost constant hyperactive state. Sometimes they served as a match of reflexes, a reminder of their abilities to protect each other in the field.

Sometimes they were simply as entertainment for Marshall. Stan wondered at times if Marshall's purpose in life was to push Mary's buttons. He seemed certainly gifted in that respect.

Stan remembered the first time Marshall pushed. Shortly after Mary joined them in the WitSec office, Marshall, feeling the need to test his boundaries, took Mary's tape dispenser.

_ "Where the hell is my goddamned tape?" Mary yelled as she searched her desk._

_ "Maybe if you didn't have all of those file folders open and spread out across your desk, you could find it." Mary raised an eyebrow as she regarded her new partner, sitting smugly behind his desk._

_ "You think?"_

_ "I think." Marshall bit his tongue to prevent his mouth from releasing his laughter. Mary nodded and smiled. She moved quickly, wiping her arm across her desk, sending all of the folders to the floor. Marshall kept himself in check, not reacting outwardly to Mary's actions._

_ "Shucks." She looked at Marshall and shrugged. "No tape dispenser." Marshall stood and leaned on his desk, peering across the room to survey Mary's desk._

_ "Nope," he affirmed. "No tape dispenser." He returned to his chair._

_ "Oh, I see what's going on here," Mary said as she stood. "This is some kind of hazing thing, isn't it?" Mary slowly walked towards Marshall's desk. "Pick on the newbie, right?"_

_ "I know not of what you speak," he said calmly._

_ "Do you always sound like Yoda?"_

_ "Speak like him at times I do, hmm." Mary's eyes narrowed as she approached his chair. He stood and slowly walked backwards as she stalked him. Mary showed him an evil smiled, but Marshall did not falter. He kept his face neutral as he led her to the middle of the room._

_ "Aw, are you scared of a girl?" she taunted._

_ "You're no girl." Marshall dodged Mary's first lunge but could not escape her second. She jumped on his back and wrapped an arm around his neck._

_ "I want my tape dispenser!"_

_ "That's too bad for you!" Marshall reached around Mary's back, grabbing and pulling her hair. She eased up on her hold of Marshall and dropped her feet back to the floor. Twenty minutes and several dirty tricks later, Marshall found himself on his back on the floor, Mary straddling his waist._

_ "I win," she said proudly as she tried to catch her breath._

_ "Are you sure?" Marshall panted._

_ "Yeah, I'm sure," she scoffed. "Who's on top, Doofus?"_

_ "Who, indeed." Marshall flipped their positions, now astride Mary. He grabbed her wrists and pinned them securely to the floor to either side of her head._

_ "Asshole," she sneered as she tried to free her hands. Marshall smiled and moved off Mary, lying next to her on the floor, both still trying to calm their breathing. The marshals noticed movement in front of Stan's office._

_ "Hey, Chief."_

_ "Hey, Stan."_

_ "Marshall. Mary," Stan said calmly. He was not sure what to make of what he witnessed, but he knew it was far from being the only time it would happen. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and nodded. "Okay." He returned to his office._

_ "Truce?" Marshall asked, turning his head to look at Mary._

_ "Never," she smiled._

_ "That's my girl."_

As Stan spied through the blinds, he sighed. Mary and Marshall did not allow their distress to affect their jobs. Even though they continued to perform their duties with the usual outstanding quality, Stan did what he could to keep them separated. Marshall was in the conference room briefing a new witness, a very polite young woman who would not need much handling. Mary sat at her desk reviewing files with Delia after uncharacteristically agreeing to take Delia out into the field.

Stan missed the days when conflict between his two wayward children could be so easily resolved. He hoped the storm would blow over, but as time progressed, the clouds did not disperse, they darkened. Stan thought it ironic that marriage and the birth of a child, two of the happiest events a person could experience in life, could cause such misery. For two years, Stan had been keeping a close, personal eye on Mary and Marshall, prepared to step in and send them to separate corners if things became uncontrollable. Though grateful he had yet to take such action, he knew the explosion was imminent and closer than ever.

**^m*m^**

"Ugh! I am _so _nervous." Brandi leaned against the countertop and stared blankly at her sister.

"Squish, you are in no condition to be nervous. I don't need you…blowing a gasket." Mary smiled sheepishly at Brandi and returned to sifting through her mail. "And anyway, Peter is excited to see you. You should be excited, too."

"I am. I am excited. I just…I feel horrible for leaving him." Brandi rubbed her stomach. "For not telling him right away. I mean, he's missed so much already. I was so mean."

"Listen." Mary turned towards Brandi. "What's done is done. You can't take anything back. What matters now is how you move forward."

"Yeah." Brandi watched as Mary pitched an ivory colored envelop across the counter. "What's that?"

"Marshall's wedding invite." Brandi tilted her head to the side.

"And…"

"And it will probably make a good coaster. It's pretty damned thick." Brandi rolled her eyes and reached for the envelop.

"Aren't you going to open it?"

"Why? I already know when it is. I don't need to see it written in cursive."

"Okay, _I'll_ open it." Brandi moved out of Mary's reach and hooked her finger under the flap of the envelop. "Aw, it's so pretty." Brandi held the invite in the air for Mary to see.

"It's very pink," Mary deadpanned.

"It's perfect. 'Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Chaffee cordially invite you—'" Mary laughed. "What's so funny?"

"'Cordially invite'," Mary snickered. "Think about it. Cordially means what? Pleasantly? Warmly, affectionately? I want to see the invitation that says 'Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so spitefully invite you to a dumbass wedding'. What a waste of ink." Mary finished picking through the mail and threw the unwanted pieces in the trashcan.

"Mary, I know that pink and pretty and…well, basically anything with warm, fuzzy feelings don't fit into your cynical little world, but aren't you just a _little_ happy for Marshall?"

"Of course, Squish." Mary turned her back on her sister and busied herself with the dishes in the sink.

"I don't know that I believe you."

"Well, you should." Both Shannon women looked towards the front door when they heard the doorbell. "Are you ready?" Mary asked.

"I am," Brandi said, taking a deep breath. "I'm not," she whined.

"You are." Mary walked to the door, opening it and greeting Peter as he entered.

**^m*m^**

"I hired a part-time employee to help on weekends." Peter leaned a shoulder into Brandi's arm. "He's not as good as you were." Brandi smiled. The night air was cool and fresh as they sat by the pool. The uncomfortable silence that came with the start of their night had dissipated, replaced by a still awkward but more familiar atmosphere. "Maybe you could give him some pointers?"

"Tell him to show a little more leg," she laughed. A small, quiet moment passed between them and Brandi looked away. "Do you remember when we first started seeing each other?" Peter nodded. "Remember how new and exciting life was?"

"I do," he answered quietly.

_"Look," Peter started. "Before I got sober, my life was a series of self-implosions. Every time I got within sight of something I really wanted, I'd throw a landmine in my own path to make sure I never achieved it." He looked at Brandi, holding her gaze. "And I just think that you need someone to help you avoid your own landmines, to help you believe you deserve some of those things that __**you**__ really want."_

"I remember something you told me about landmines." She turned to Peter, a curious look on his face. "You said that you would purposely sabotage your life, that you wouldn't allow yourself to go after the things that you really wanted." Peter nodded, remembering the destructive behavior. "That's what I've done with my life. I didn't want to run away from you. The entire time we were together I was worried that I could never live up to your family's expectations and be good enough for you." Brandi wiped a tear from her cheek. "I threw out the landmine." Peter laughed.

"I recall another part of that story. I said you needed someone to keep you from pitching those things." Brandi nodded. "I want so badly to be that person for you, Brandi. You have no idea how…After…after you left Albuquerque, I stared down a very big bottle of whiskey. It sat on my kitchen table, taunting me. I thought about my journey to becoming sober and the path I've walked since my last drink and I had a landmine ready to destroy everything I worked so hard to accomplish. But I didn't throw it."

"What stopped you?"

"You," he answered honestly. "I had an amazing hope that someday we'd find each other again. And I knew that if I took that drink…It wasn't worth the risk of losing you forever." He faced Brandi squarely and took her hands in his. "I never stopped loving you. I prayed every day that you would come back. And this," he said, motioning to her stomach. "This is something so…special. It shouldn't be a wedge between us. It should be our bridge. Everyone has something they want to do over, but not everyone gets that second chance. We have that. We have a second chance."

"Peter—" Brandi let the tears fall from her eyes.

"Brandi. I don't care what my family thinks of you or of us together or even of the baby. **I** love you and **I** want to be with you. There is no one I want walking beside me through that mine field but you." He smiled sweetly. "That is, if that's what _you_ want."

_ "Oh, and you think you are one of those things that I really want, Mr. Conceited?"_

_ "Why wouldn't I be?" he smiled. "I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm quite a catch."_


	3. Chapter 3

a/n: Here's number three…sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy. Flashbacks are in italics, but if you've made it this far, you know that. The two sections starting with *** are not flashbacks. I know, I have to be difficult. Reviews are greatly valued.

**Chapter Three**

"What do you think about Candice?" Peter looked up from his book. "We can call her 'Candy'." Brandi scrunched her face.

"Hmm…Candy and Brandi?" she asked with a slight shake of her heard.

"Candice is off the list," he smiled. "Knowing the baby's sex would make this much easier." Brandi laughed.

"I know, but I want to be surprised." Brandi turned the page of her book. "How about Bartholomew?"

"I appreciate the fact that it is a Hebrew name, but 'don't have a cow' is not something I want to hear around the house."

"Hey, still looking at baby names?" Mary asked as she entered the kitchen, Norah in her arms. "You've been at this since supper."

"Yeah," Brandi answered. "We're having a hard time deciding. How did you pick Norah's name, Mary?"

"I didn't spend days on end looking through a bunch of baby name books," she joked. "Honestly, I don't know. I didn't know if I was going to keep her so I never gave it much thought. But, when I saw her in the nursery…"

_ "I'm ready to talk about the shooting," Mary started as she sat on the leather couch. "It was horrible, he deserved it, and I'd do it again," she said in one breath._

_ "But it hurt you to hurt him," Shelley prodded._

_ "I didn't __**hurt**__ him, I __**killed**__ him," Mary clarified, though she knew that was a detail Shelley already had. "I had to," she sighed. "To protect Stan, to protect Marshall, because that's what I do. I protect people." Mary never intended a day to end with the taking of a life. She preferred immobilizing threats in almost every other way. But she knew, and accepted, that her job rarely offered her that choice._

_ "Which is why you didn't make an adoption plan for Norah."_

_ "She was so __**tiny**__, so fragile," Mary said as she remembered the first time she saw her daughter enclosed in the incubator. It was the moment she began to understand her role in that precious life. "But, most of all, she was __**mine**__. I just felt like, __**feel**__ like…" She collected her thoughts for a moment. "I just realized no one could protect her like I would; like I __**can**__."_

Mary shrugged. "It just popped into my head."

"It's a beautiful name," Peter said. "You did a great job."

"Thanks," Mary smiled softly. Brandi rose gingerly, moving to the cupboard for an empty glass.

"Mary!" she scolded. "What is this?" Brandi turned around and held up the envelope she found on the countertop.

"Marshall's invite," Mary answered.

"You were supposed to mail the RSVP card last week."

"Why?" Mary asked, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"Marshall needs to know if you're going to be there, Mary." She narrowed her eyes. "Have you even _made_ that decision yet?" Mary rolled her eyes and left the kitchen. She sat on the living room floor and placed Norah on the play mat. The little one grabbed a rattle, happily smacking it on the mat as she mumbled the 'ma' and 'ba' syllables she recently learned. Mary smiled as Norah handed her the rattle.

"Bang, bang, bang" she said softly, tapping the toy on the mat. Norah giggled and reached for the rattle.

_"A doctor," Marshall said._

_ "No," Mary answered firmly._

_ "An OB/GYN," he offered._

_ "Still a doctor, still a no," she sneered._

_ "It's a simple blood test. It takes five minutes. Five minutes," he quickly reiterated._

_ "Five minutes to blood test, five minutes to blood test," she mocked. "Ease up, Rain Man. Maybe count some cards or toothpicks or something."_

_ "We're having a baby, Mary." She laughed dryly._

_ "Oh, __**we**__ are?"_

_ "I'm with you every day. If you're having a baby, trust me, __**we're **__having a baby."_

Mary was grateful that Marshall was protective during her pregnancy, even though she repeatedly told him it was not necessary. She didn't need to say the words or act as such for Marshall to know she was scared. As with everything else in her life, Marshall knew what to say to keep her calm. She believed Marshall's constant support gave her the courage and strength to make the decision to raise Norah instead of putting her up for adoption.

_ "Um…listen. We don't have to get into this if you don't want, but all this with the Templeton's, the adoption, that's all…" Marshall took a deep breath. "Set in stone?"_

_ "Are you serious?" Mary gave Marshall a disbelieving look. "Oh, my god, get in line. Tell Brandi and Jinx I say 'hi'," she said walking away._

_ "Hey," Marshall said as he caught up to her. "I just thought, I don't know, this Grace situation might've churned some second thoughts for you." Mary stopped and looked up at her partner._

_ "Well, obviously, it's churned up some second thoughts for you," she said, eyebrows raised. "You clearly think I'm making a bad decision."_

_ "No, just a hard one," he explained. Marshall's tone softened but his face remained serious. "Look, whatever you're going to do, I have total faith that it'll be the right thing for you, for everyone. But it's hard for me to stand here and go on about being here for Grace no matter what without making it clear that the same goes for you, times ten." His voice was firm, warding off any argument she may have had. "No matter what."_

Mary did not know it at the time, but her pregnancy was the line Abigail did not wish crossed. The turning point was the day of Brandi's wedding, the day Mary, Marshall, Abigail and a handful of others were holed up in the courthouse building. Without hesitation, Marshall used his body to shield Mary from the bullets and glass that sprayed through the room. Marshall assured Mary that Abigail had not been upset, that she understood Marshall's instincts to protect his partner, to protect the woman carrying a child. Little by little over the next eight months, Abigail became distant with Mary. In hindsight, Mary could see where Marshall had been caught between his partner and his fiancé, wanting without the knowhow to be in each life.

_ "And so it begins," Mary started._

_ "And so what begins?"_

_ "The Marshall Mann Edition. She zeroed in on what needs fixing, I'm telling you." Mary shook her head gently. "Don't get me wrong, I like Abigail, I do."_

_ "You hide it well," Marshall snarked._

_ "But you know the type. She's a fixer," Mary stated. "Trust me, aside from the late night cramming for her SATs, that girl will not rest 'till she's completely changed you."_

With that comment, Marshall believed Mary was being her typical suspicious self. Yet, her hunch was becoming a reality. After the conversation on the balcony, she thought about and second-guessed everything Marshall had said to her since he started seeing Abigail. Mary wondered exactly what he meant by 'trust me, we're having a baby'. Maybe she had not heard correctly. Maybe he didn't mean 'I'm your best friend and you can act tough all you want, but I know you're scared and I'm here to help you through it'. Maybe he really meant 'you think you're tough but you know you're not and since you involve me in every other part of your life looks like I have no choice but to ride along this time, too.'

Mary crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees, confused as to why someone she knew so well was suddenly so much a stranger. Norah drooled on the rattle, now housed between her lips, and looked expectantly at her mother.

"I don't know, Bug," Mary shrugged. "And men think _we're_ hard to figure out." Norah clapped her hands and responded with a gurgle.

**^m*m^**

"Oh my god, who are you and where did you learn how to cook?" Mary set Norah in the bouncer on the kitchen floor, snapped the straps securely around the infant's waist and then made her way to Peter's side at the stove. Peter laughed.

"Well, it is the least I can do since you are graciously allowing me to stay here with Brandi until the baby is born."

"If you can make breakfast like this every day, I'll let you stay until the kid is fifty."

"Grab a plate, dig in," Peter ordered with a smile. "You know, Mary, I really am grateful that you're letting me stay here." Mary scooped a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto her plate.

"Brandi is in no condition to be worrying about packing and unpacking and all of that crap." She looked at Peter. "And, really, after the baby is born, you can stay until Brandi is mobile, again."

"Ugh, you talk about me like someone should be pushing me around in a wheel barrow." Brandi sauntered into the kitchen, one hand on her lower back, on hand on her stomach.

"I was there, Squish. It would have been nice to have someone pushing me around." Mary drew circles in the air with her fork as she sat at the table. "Would be nice now, too," she mumbled.

**^m*m^**

"Mary, Marshall? A moment please." Stan motioned his inspectors towards his office. He settled into the chair behind his desk. "Marshall, close the door."

"Is something wrong, Chief?" Marshall asked.

"You tell me." Mary and Marshall exchanged a confused look.

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"Well, it has not escaped my attention that the two of you have not spoken a word to each other since last week." He waved a hand through the air. "Thursday, as a matter of fact, when you checked on Mary's witnesses." Stan flicked his eyes from one marshal to the other. "So what the hell happened to shut the two of you up?" Mary tilted her head to the side and frowned at Stan's unusually harsh tone of voice. She knew exactly what had closed the line of communication, but she was not willing to share. She turned to Marshall. The look on his face told her he was thinking the same.

"Nothing abnormal happened, Stan," Marshall shrugged as he turned back to the chief. "It was Asshole Day."

"Yeah, Asshole Day," Mary repeated, eyes still on Marshall. Stan leaned his elbows on the desk and laced his fingers.

"Something's not right with the two of you." His index finger left the fold to point at Mary and Marshall. "I want to know what the problem is."

"There's no problem." Marshall looked pointedly at Mary. "Right?"

"Right." Mary offered Stan a smile. "No problem." Stan stared at the two. He knew better than to expect an answer. They had yet to ignore their responsibilities and he simply needed to know if they were fit for a new assignment. Stan grabbed a folder and handed it across the desk to Mary.

"What's this?" she asked opening the folder.

"Witness transfer." Stan stood and moved to the front of his desk. "The witness, Maxwell Duncan, cannot fly, he gets sick. So, pack your bags. You're headed to Cedar City, Utah."

"Whoa, whoa, what?" Mary handed the file to Marshall. "_Why_ can't he fly?"

"He gets sick," Stan answered.

"He gets sick," Mary nodded.

"More so in a plane than a car," Stan mumbled.

"_Excuse_ me? So, let me get this straight. We're going to drive…drive…"

"Nine hours," Marshall supplied.

"Yeah, nine hours," Mary repeated. She looked at Marshall. "Nine hours?" Marshall nodded. "Okay, nine hours, stay overnight at a more than likely crap-ass motel, then drive nine hours home with a witness who will probably get sick multiple times in the back of the SUV."

"Yep, and I suggest you get moving." Stan looked at his watch. "It's quarter after two. If you leave Albuquerque by three you'll arrive by midnight. You're scheduled to meet with the Boise marshals at nine tomorrow morning. They will contact you around seven to arrange a meeting place." Stan crossed his arms in front of his chest. "That gives you plenty of time to sleep and be ready for the meeting."

"Ugh." Mary made a face. "Nine hours in a moving vehicle with a carsick witness."

"I'm more concerned about the two of you in a car for nine hours with each other." Stan raised his eyebrows.

"Stan, we have it covered," Marshall assured him. He turned to open the door. "Come on, Mary," he said, grabbing her elbow and quickly ushering her through the door. "My go-bag is in the SUV. I'll follow you home."

**^m*m^**

_ "Hello there, my favorite U.S. marshal."_

"Hey, Sweetheart." Marshall smiled as Abigail's voice floated through the SUV's speakers. "Listen, I have some, uh, bummer news. I need to go out of town for a meeting."

_"Oh,"_ Abigail pouted. _"When?"_

"Now, actually. I'm going to stop at Mary's house and then we're head—"

_ "You're going with Mary?"_

"Abigail, this is a _work_ thing. I know you don't want me to say it, but…"

_ "I know. She's your partner."_

"Yes, she is."

_"So what's the meeting about?"_ Abigail sighed at Marshall's silence. _"Okay. One of those things you can't tell me. How about where you're headed?"_

"Abs," Marshall cautioned.

_ "Is there __**anything**__ you can tell me about this trip?"_

"I'm leaving after I pick up Mary and I should be home Sunday morning." Marshall did not intend the words to leave his mouth with such condescendence.

_"Marshall."_ She took a deep breath. _"Just promise me that in two weeks when we get married I won't have to worry about these last minute meetings."_ Marshall laughed.

"I promise that there will be no last minute meetings on our wedding day."

_ "Did you talk to Mary about the wedding?"_

"No, I haven't."

_ "You should do that today. Two weeks, Marshall."_ He could hear the smile in Abigail's voice.

"I know, I know." He smiled, too. "I'm sorry. I will talk to Mary."

_ "'Kay. Be careful, Marshall. I love you."_

"I love you, too, Abigail." Marshall released a breath as he ended the call. He understood the need to keep his job under wraps, but he did not like keeping things from Abigail. He had a feeling that Abigail's issues with his secrecy had more to do with Mary than with the actual job. Marshall decreased his personal contact with Mary in an effort to show Abigail that Mary was not and would never be a threat. Maybe that offering was not enough.

_"And they say romance is dead," Marshall said. "'Ninety-year-old billionaire weds flight attendant, twenty-three,'" he read from the newspaper. "Gee, I wonder how they met."_

_ "In an airplane," Mary stated. Marshall turned to her and narrowed his eyes._

_ "Did you read this already?" he asked sarcastically._

_ "Think you'll ever get married?"_

"_If the right flight attendant comes along, who knows," Marshall shrugged, turning his attention back to the paper._

_ "If you ever did take that plunge, not that I'd wish that hell on any woman, think you'd tell the missus about the job?"_

_ "No."_

_ "That's it?" Mary asked, surprised. "No diffuse and flowery philosophical treatise with footnotes?"_

_ "Runs contrary to WITSEC regs," he answered simply._

_ "Heaven forbid we run contrary," Mary said with a roll of her eyes._

_ "You're not thinking about…" Marshall looked at Mary, his ire growing._

_ "Hot sauce," Mary said, purposely avoiding Marshall's scrutiny. She rummaged through the sauces on the diner's counter. "Gotta be looking __**right**__ at it."_

_ "You already told him."_

Marshall was not planning on telling Abigail that he worked for the Witness Protection Program, but he was starting to appreciate Mary's reason for telling Raphael.

**^m*m^**

"Here comes the airplane, peaches on board." Brandi smiled and swerved the spoon in little circles towards Norah's mouth. "That's it, open wide." Norah kicked her feet, causing the bouncer to jiggle as she opened her mouth to accept the spoonful of her favorite food. "Good job, you're all done!" Brandi picked up a wet washcloth and wiped the remaining smudges of peach from the little girl's chin. "And hardly any messes today, most of it went _in _your mouth." Brandi leaned her elbows on the kitchen table, holding up a finger for Norah to grab.

"Hey, Brandi." Brandi turned towards the front door.

"Mary, you're home early. Hi, Marshall." He waved his greeting.

"Yeah. Look, Squish, we have to go out of town for a meeting," she started, joining her sister in the kitchen. "I'm going to call Mark and see if he can take Norah for a couple of days. Mom is going to stay here with you and Peter just in case, well, you know." Mary motioned towards Brandi's stomach. "Mom should be here shortly after five."

"Yeah, okay. When are you leaving?"

"As soon as I'm packed," Mary answered. Brandi nodded as Mary headed to her bedroom.

"Um." Brandi smiled nervously at Marshall and pointed to Norah. "I have to, uh…Would you mind watching her for just a moment?"

"Not at all," Marshall smiled. When Brandi was out of the room, Marshall unhooked the bouncer's straps and pulled Norah into his arms. "Look at you, getting so big," he said as he settled his arm behind her legs. She reached for his free hand, grabbing his thumb. His attachment strengthened every time he saw Norah. He had come to a point where he could no longer imagine not having her around.

Marshall, being the only one who truly knew Mary Shannon, witnessed the emotional and psychological changes that took place during her pregnancy. Where everyone saw Mary's reluctance to pick an adoptive family as simple indecision, Marshall saw a mother subconsciously deciding to raise her own flesh and blood. He had spoken with Mary several times about her hesitancy, hoping that she would connect the dots, as he had, and eliminate the stress of that choice from her life.

_ "So, um, what's the plan?" Marshall asked carefully._

_ "I don't know. The plan is I'd rather not be pregnant." Mary shrugged. "But I'll do what I do, protect and relocate. There must be hundreds of couples in a ten-mile radius who'd kill for the shot at three a.m. feedings." Mary smiled as she pointed to herself. "I'm just the girl to give it to them."_

_ "Just like that?" Marshall asked. "You're sure?"_

_ "No, I'm not sure of anything," Mary sighed._

Marshall smiled as Norah continued to play with his fingers. Mary, his exotic animal, free of the bloodsucking relationships of an alcoholic mother and an irresponsible sister, had found a healthy dependency from the infant. Marshall was sure placing Norah with an adoptive family would have caused devastating changes in Mary.

_ "We know what we are, but know not what we may be," Marshall said poetically._

_ "Don't talk like that," Mary groaned. "What's your point?"_

_ "Your mom is well ensconced at teaching ballet," Marshall explained. "Your sister is engage, and, despite your underlying belief in her guilt, it turns out she was free of complicity in the car theft." He eyed his partner. "The question is: what does the protective lioness do without anyone to protect?" Marshall would not have predicted that in just a few months, Mary would answer that question with the news of her pregnancy._

"You look just like your mommy," Marshall said with an amused shake of his head. "You have her pretty green eyes." Norah made a few happy noises as she kicked her feet. She showed Marshall a chubby-cheeked smile before stuffing her fist in her mouth. "And her beautiful smile," he added, playfully tapping his finger on the tip of her nose. Norah cooed again and with a tiny burp, she heaved her peaches down the front of Marshall's shirt. She kicked her feet again, bouncing on Marshall's arm as she clapped her hands. "And all of your mother's manners," he nodded.

"All right, Mark will pick up Norah after work so—Oh, Marshall!" Mary set her bag on the floor in the living room and covered her mouth trying to hide her amusement. "I'm so sorry," she laughed.

"I'll pull some clothes from my go-bag." He sighed for show. Mary took hold of Norah, careful not to make more of a mess with the peaches.

"You're not dirty at all," Mary smiled as tucked her arm around Norah. "Put 'er there, Bug," she whispered as she touched her palm to her daughter's hand. "Great aim." Mary turned just enough to catch Marshall out of the corner of her eye.

"I hope she gets you next," he called as he left the house. Mary laughed and moved to the living room, sitting on the sofa.

"Mary? How long are you going to be gone?" Brandi asked, sitting next to her sister.

"Not long." Mary pulled her hair from Norah's grabby fingers. "We'll be back Sunday morning." She looked at Brandi. "Hopefully in time for lunch," she smiled. Marshall walked back into the house with a change of clothing and headed towards the bathroom.

"Mary," Brandi sighed.

"Squish, what's wrong?" Brandi forced her smile.

"Mary, you're going to be alone with…I just…I worry about you."

"Thanks, Squish, but there's no need to worry about me," she said, shaking her head. "Save the concern for when that little one of yours is a teenager and out of control." Brandi laughed.

"I can't believe it's almost time," she said, rubbing the top of her stomach. "One week left." Marshall returned to the living room. "Marshall, here." Brandi rose from the couch and took the soiled clothes from his hands. "I can wash these for you."

"Um, thank you, Brandi." He shifted his gaze to his partner. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah," Mary nodded. "I love you, Bug." She kissed her daughter's cheek and handed her to Brandi. "Don't go into labor while I'm gone," she told her sister. "Cross your legs, hold it in if you have to."

"Whatever," Brandi said with a roll of her eyes. "Enjoy your meeting." Mary grabbed her bag slung the strap over her shoulder.

"I'm sure it will be wonderful." She left the house, Marshall following her to the SUV. Mary opened the rear door and flung her bag into the back seat. "Why can't anyone bring the witnesses to _us_?" she asked as she took her place in the passenger seat. "Why must we trek half way across the country-"

"Half way across the country," Marshall mocked.

"-to pick up some jackass who is probably just as guilty as the person he's ratting out?" Marshall backed the vehicle out of the driveway and glanced at Mary as he returned his attention to the front window.

"Come on, Mary. Where's your sense of adventure?" Marshall smiled. "You know they're not all guilty."

"Yeah, well, it sure seems like it's been years since we've had a witness who wasn't a murderer or a drug dealer or an embezzler. Some people's kids," she muttered. Ten minutes of silence passed between the two before Marshall spoke again.

"Mary?" he said softy. "Why is Brandi worried about you?" Mary turned to Marshall, whose attention stayed on the road. She thought about yelling at him for eaves dropping on yet another conversation, but she didn't want to start their trip with a fight.

"Oh, uh, she's just…hormonal," she answered. "You know, end of pregnancy niceness."

"End of pregnancy…niceness," Marshall repeated slowly. "Is that an actual thing? Does it happen to _all_ pregnant women? Because you were not very ni-" Mary punched Marshall's arm. "Hey!" He rubbed his arm. "Certainly not something that carries over, either."

"I was _not_ mean," Mary argued.

"No more than normal," he amended. Marshall held up a hand, expecting to receive another fist. "No more punching. I'm driving."

"Fine. I'll save the ass-kicking for the first rest stop."

"Who said we're stopping?" Marshall looked at Mary with a lop-sided grin as she narrowed her eyes.

"Oh, ha, ha, ha. Don't forget, I know how much you like to hear me whine," she threatened.

"Road trips with Mary, how I have missed thee."

"Shut up and keep thine eyes on the road, Doofus."

"So…I haven't received your RSVP card for the wedding," Marshall stated.

"Yeah." Marshall turned to look at her again. "Relax," she said with a roll of her eyes. I'll be there."

"I, uh, plus-one'd your invitation," he said. "You can…bring Kenny?" Mary smiled slightly as he turned his sentence into a question.

"Thanks, Marshall, but I think Mark is going to be my plus one." Marshall raised his eyebrows in question.

"Are you and Kenny not…" Marshall shrugged.

"We were never really…" Mary copied the shrug.

"Oh, okay." Marshall tried to hold the relief from his voice. He met Kenny one time, in passing, and didn't know much about the man. Mary seemed indifferent as far as that relationship was concerned, never complaining about Kenny, but never having anything nice to say, either. That was enough for Marshall to dislike him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," she said, looking of the passenger window. "I didn't want that," she lied. With the finality in her tone of voice, Marshall sensed Mary was starting to shut down. It had been too long since he shared a good portion of his day with Mary, and he refused to let it disintegrate into Mary's now typical avoidance of him.

"Well, if Mark is coming," Marshall started, sounding hopeful. "Does that mean my little Norah Bean will be coming, too?" Mary looked at Marshall, a large smile on his face.

"Norah Bean?"

"Yeah, she likes that."

"Really," Mary said skeptically. "Wait a minute." Marshall watched Mary smile. "The peaches," she nodded. "That's why she hocked all over you. You called her Norah Bean."

"No, hocking on me was simply a replication of her mother's attitude."

"She is a quick learner, isn't she?" Mary smiled proudly.

"How about you take a nap while I drive? I don't want you being cranky when we meet with the Boise marshals."

"Whatever you say, Peaches." Mary turned back to the passenger window and relaxed. Her smile began to fade as she thought about her banter with Marshall. It had been so long since she let herself enjoy that, but she couldn't feel that way again; she couldn't let the trip revert them to old habits. She quickly blinked away the welling tears then closed her eyes. She pushed all thoughts of Marshall to the farthest recesses of her mind and prayed by the time they arrived in Cedar City that she could forget all about their teasing.

**^m*m^**

"Yeah, all right." Mary sat against the cheap wooden headboard, legs stretched in front of her body and crossed at the ankles. She watched as Marshall paced the floor at the foot of the bed, from the dresser to the door and back again. He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke into his phone, the irritation in his voice more than evident. "Okay. How long?" His shoulders dropped and his pacing stopped. "Yeah. Thanks." Marshall tossed his phone on the dresser and sat on the bed next to Mary, his back to her. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees and cradling his head in his hands.

"What did Stan say?" Mary asked quietly.

"The marshals and our witness left Bend, Oregon half an hour ago. Their course correction puts them on a fourteen hour journey to us." His body's hunched form exaggerated the breath he took to sigh. "It's nine and a half hours to Salt Lake City, then another three or so from there to here." Mary groaned.

"Tell me that they were able to drop the tail."

"Stan said the marshals think so but are not one-hundred percent certain."

"Christ. Seems to me this would have been worth cleaning puke out of the airplane." Marshall huffed his agreement. He lightly dropped his hands and straightened, turning a bit to look at Mary. She gave him a moment to speak, but he remained silent. "What?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "Are you hungry?"

"When am I not?" she replied. Marshall smiled.

"How about a pizza?" Marshall looked at his watch. "If I can find a place that delivers at one in the morning." Mary nodded. Marshall opened the drawer of the nightstand next to the bed and pulled out a phone book. He turned his back to her as he settled the book over his legs. Mary shifted her focus, settling subconsciously on the toe of her boot. There was no point in the last two years that she and Marshall spent so much time solely in each other's company. The first few hours of their drive, comfortable and relaxed, gave way to hours of a strained and clumsy silence. Then, an hour and a half from Cedar City, Stan called with news of a security breach. With few details of the potentially deadly developing situation, tensions grew. Mary tried to focus on the job and dismiss the personal insecurities, but she struggled to stay centered.

"Ah-ha, here's a place. What kind of crust would you like?" Marshall turned to Mary when she failed to answer his question. He watched her for a moment, taking in the slight crease in her brow and the distant look that had plagued her face for the better part of the day. He dropped his eyes to her hands. They rested on top of her thighs, fingers nervously bending and lacing as they tried to find a comfortable position. Marshall's gaze drifted back to her face and he was overcome with thoughts he'd long kept oppressed. He knew it would be so easy to play out his designs; they'd happened so often in his mind.

_*** Marshall moved, slowly as not to draw Mary's attention, and squared his body with hers. He hooked a finger under her chin, the contact breaking Mary from her meditation._

_ "Marshall, what are…" Mary lifted her hands to push Marshall back, but he swiftly and carefully took hold of her wrists, lowering her arms back to her sides. He raised his hand, gently running his finger along the line of her jaw. His eyes dropped from hers and focused on her lips as he drew her mouth to his. At first, he kissed her gently, slowly, enjoying the way the tension crept through her body. Marshall loosened his grip on Mary's wrist and she cautiously moved her hands to his chest. He slid closer without breaking the contact of their mouths and wrapped an arm around her waist._

_ Mary pushed Marshall back, taking a breath as she tried to wrap her head around what was happening. Her eyes remained closed and she could barely whisper his name. Marshall wound his fingers in Mary's hair, holding the back of her head as he leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against hers.***_

"Mare?" Mary was startled from her thoughts when Marshall's fingers brushed her cheek. His touch was soft and lingered longer than Mary thought necessary.

"Uh, yeah. I'm sorry," she said nervously. "What-what were you saying?" Marshall gave her a worried look but chose not to voice his concern.

"Thin crust or thick crust?"

"Thin." Marshall held Mary's gaze for a moment before rising and moving to the dresser to get his phone. Mary listened as Marshall ordered their mid-night meal. She was suddenly aware of the small size of the motel room. They both agreed sharing a room was a necessity when transferring a witness; one room, two marshals was the safest scenario. Sharing a room now meant the unpleasantness would receive no break.

"Half an hour," Marshall announced as he returned to the bed, a leg bent in front of him so he could face Mary.

"What were you going to ask me earlier?"

"When?" he asked.

"Before, uh, before we decided to order pizza." Marshall nodded.

"Oh, well, I was wondering if you would-" He was interrupted by the buzz of his phone. He pulled the device from his pocket. "It's Stan." Marshall answered the call and Mary saw his face immediately take on a defeated look. "How?" Mary crossed her legs and leaned forward. "What do you want us to do?" He met Mary's eyes and shook his head. "Okay, we'll head out in the morning." He rolled his eyes. "No, Stan, it's fine. No problems."

"For crying out loud," Mary grumbled and reached for the phone. Marshall pushed her away.

"No. Well, at least not before our food is delivered and paid for," he smiled. "All right, see you then."

"What the hell does Stan think I'm going to do to you?" Mary demanded. Marshall simply looked at her. "The tail," she said. Marshall nodded.

"Our witness and two of the three accompanying marshals are dead. The third marshal took out the two assailants. He's in bad shape; the doctors don't know if he'll make it."

"How did this happen? Where was the leak?"

"I don't know." Marshall shrugged. "Stan will call if he hears any news. In the meantime, we are to try to get a decent amount of sleep and head back to Albuquerque." Mary nodded. "So it's just you and me on the ride home," Marshall said, dropping his eyes.

"Yeah. Great, another four-day drive."

"It wasn't four days," Marshall said with a smirk. "We left your house eleven hours ago." He looked up and pointed at her. "And you can't really count the three hours you slept." Mary shrugged.

"I was just doing what you told me to do."

"Of all the directions you've been given, that's the one you follow." Mary nodded.

"So…" she said after a moment.

"So?"

"What was your question?"

"It's not important right now."

"We're not going anywhere for a while, Marshall. What were you going to ask me?" Marshall took a deep breath and nodded.

"I was wondering, well, _Abigail_ and I were wondering…if you would like to be a part of…a part of our wedding."

**^m*m^**

"Squish! I'm home," Mary called as dumped her bag on the floor by the front entrance.

"Hey, hi." Brandi walked slowly through the living room, both hands rubbing her lower back. "I thought you were coming home tomorrow."

"Yeah, short meeting."

"Was it interesting?" Brandi asked.

"It was very, uh…enlightening," she answered, secretly referring to her personal interaction with Marshall. "Squish, what's wrong?"

"Oh, my back is sore; has been since I woke up this morning."

"Well, is there anything I can get you to help with that?"

"No, I'll be fine. I'm just going to lie down for a little while, before supper."

"Okay," Mary nodded knowingly. "I'm going to do the same, I think. Then I'm going to pick up Norah."

"Oh, Mark said he's going to keep Norah at his place until Wednesday. He had a few vacation days left and he figured he could take them now, give you a chance to rest from your trip."

"Great, that's great," she smiled genuinely. "Go lie down, Squish. Holler if you need anything."

"Thanks, Mary." Brandi headed towards the hallway, stopping in its opening and turning to look at Mary. "Welcome back," she smiled. Mary watched as her sister disappeared into the bedroom, and then dropped heavily on the living room sofa. She pulled the afghan from the back of the couch and unfolding it with a half-assed shake. Sighing, Mary laid down and closed her eyes, willing her mind to stop running; to stop thinking about the deaths of the Boise marshals, to stop thinking about dying and leaving her infant daughter behind, to stop thinking about Marshall's proposal that she be involved in his wedding.

Mary turned on her side, letting her arm hang off the edge of the couch. She should not have been so snippy when she declined Marshall's offer. She had clearly hurt his feelings but she could not give him the separation he asked for if he continued to ask her to be involved in his life. With a groan, Mary pulled the blanket over her head and drifted into a restless sleep.

_***Mary sighed as the elevator dinged, signaling the car's arrival at her floor. She adjusted the bag strap on her shoulder and swung open the elevator door._

_ "Stan," she whined. "When are you going to get this fixed?" Stan spun his chair and looked at his inspector._

_ "Get what fixed?"_

_ "This." Mary held the edge of the elevator door with both hands and pushed. She banged the door a couple of times on the corner of Stan's desk. "I mean, come on, Stan. Every day we come into work and hop over your desk, disrupt your papers…leave footprints." Mary grabbed a piece of paper, holding it up by a corner. A muddy boot print partially obscured the word 'confidential', typed in large letters across the middle of the page. "Doesn't that annoy you?" Mary frowned as she set down the paper. "It would annoy me."_

_ "Everything annoys you, Mary," Stan drawled. "Budget cuts," he said with a shrug. "Can't fix anything these days without the money. Just hop over and find Marshall. He has a new witness." Stan held Mary's hand, helping her keep her balance as she obediently climbed over the desk._

_ "Marshall!" she called as she walked into her kitchen. "Where the hell are you?"_

_ "Right here." Mary whipped around, startled by the voice behind her._

_ "Jesus, Marshall. Don't scare me like that!" Marshall smiled as Mary smacked his arm in punishment. "Stan said you have a new witness."_

_ "I do," Marshall nodded. Mary raised an eyebrow and looked around the kitchen. "No one's here but you and me, Numb Nuts. Where is he?"_

_ "It's me!" Marshall's smile widened and he pulled Mary into a hug._

_ "Wait, wait. What?" Mary pushed him away. "You can't be a witness. How can he be a witness, Stan?" She turned towards Stan, who had taken residence on the countertop next to the sink._

_ "It's really very simple, Mary. Marshall won the bet." Mary looked between her chief and her partner for a long moment._

_ "What fucking bet?" she finally yelled. Marshall laughed._

_ "Oh, Mary," he sighed happily. He pulled Mary close again and slipped a hand to the back of her neck. "The bet that you wouldn't remember the bet," he whispered against her mouth._

_ "Mary! Mary!" Marshall straightened as a voice called for his partner. He pointed towards the dark office._

_ "Can you hear her?" he asked._

_ "Hear who?" The voice called her name again. Marshall stepped behind Mary, guiding her attention to the correct spot. The bright spotlight that illuminated the office made several sideways figure eights over the long red curtains behind Stan's desk before settling on the elevator door, still partially open. Brandi leaned her head and shoulders through the small opening. She smiled and pointed towards her stomach._

_ "Mary, help me." Mary turned back to the kitchen, finding herself alone._

_ "Marshall? Where the hell did you go?" She let a frustrated growl escaped her lips and turned back to Brandi. The spot light was fading, swallowing Brandi into the darkness. "Oh…no, no."_

"_Mary! Mary, help me!"***_

"Mary! Mary, help me!" Rubbing the stiff muscles in her neck, Mary rolled onto her back. She took a calming breath, holding it before her eyes snapped open.

"Brandi!" Mary threw the blanket from her body and tripped her way off the couch. "I'm coming, Squish!" she called.

"Oh, Mary! Hurry, hurry!" Mary pushed open Brandi's bedroom door and flipped up the light switch. Brandi sat up as much as her pregnant body allowed. "Mary, I think it's…it's time. My water…broke."

"Okay, okay." Mary ran a hand through her hair. "Your bag is by the door to the garage, right?" Brandi nodded. "Okay. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere." Mary turned to leave the room, stopping in the doorway. She looked over her shoulder at Brandi, who managed, through a contraction, to send Mary an incredulous scowl. "Right. Sorry, Squish."


	4. Chapter 4

a/n: This chapter was hard to write. It was difficult to put some of these 'abnormal' emotions into words that could be 'Mary and Marshall' words. I hope I did it justice. I kind of like the physical, badass in-your-face Marshall, so he's going to stick around a while. 'Spaceman Spiff' belongs to Bill Watterson, creator of the most awesome 'Calvin and Hobbes'. Thank you for the hits and reviews! Please enjoy.

**Chapter Four**

"Where's Peter? Did you call Peter?" Brandi stared at the ceiling as she breathed slowly through another painful contraction.

"He left the office," Mary nodded. "Who the hell voluntarily goes to work on a Saturday anyway?" Brandi squeezed Mary's fingers and mustered a quick laugh. "He's on his way, Squish. So is Mom." Mary held her sister's hand, rubbing soft circles across the backs of her fingers.

"Brandi, we need to get you changed and ready for the delivery, and get the IV started for the pain meds." Mary looked at the nurse then back to Brandi.

"Squish, I'm going to go to the lobby and see if Peter's here yet." Brandi nodded, resuming the rhythmic breathing as another contraction started. "Is this going to happen, you know, soon soon?" Mary asked the nurse. "I don't want her to be alone." The nurse smiled softly.

"She's at three centimeters so she has a ways to go yet. But, as far as how soon 'soon' is…" She shrugged. "I can't answer that one."

"Okay." Mary leaned down to Brandi's ear. "I'll be right back." Mary left the room, taking a deep breath and blowing it out in a slow puff through her lips. Upon reaching the reception desk, she heard a familiar, yet nervous, voice call her name.

"Mary? How is she? Where is she?" Mary set her hands on Peter's arms, trying to calm the father-to-be.

"She's all right, Peter." Mary turned him and guided him down the hallway. "She's at three centimeters. And the nurse is giving her some pain medication so she's going to be a lot more comfortable than she was when we came in," Mary smiled. Peter nodded but Mary was certain he was not listening. "Here's her room. Jinx and I will be in the waiting room down the hall." Peter turned, facing Mary. "I'll watch for your parents."

"Mary…I cannot thank you enough for this. Without you, I wouldn't be here to witness my baby…_my baby_…" He smiled. "My baby being born."

"Yeah, yeah," she laughed. "Congratulations Peter." He offered one last smile before entering Brandi's room. Mary leaned against the wall opposite the doorway and waited patiently for Jinx to step out. She thought about Norah's delivery, thought about how much it really meant to have Mark present for their daughter's birth. She thought about how much more it would mean to Brandi to have Peter, the man she was meant to be with, by her side. Burying the empty feeling washing over her, she shook off the thought.

"Oh, I am so excited!" Jinx sang, springing from the delivery room, hands clasped over her heart. "Two grandbabies!" Jinx wound her arm in Mary's and together they headed towards the waiting room.

**^m*m^**

Marshall opened the door and scanned the empty waiting room. He found the object of his search sleeping on the scantly padded, metal-framed couch at the far side of the room. He shook his head, amazed that his partner could sleep so soundly on something so uncomfortable. Marshall made his way through the room and knelt in front of the couch. He noted the crease in her brow and the shallowness of her breathing, realizing just how restless she really was. Gently brushing away the spray of hair that covered the side of Mary's face, Marshall watched her sleep, as he had the night before in the motel room.

_ Marshall lay comfortably on his back, fingers laced, hands resting across his chest. The room was cool and the red, flowered comforter offered the ideal amount of warmth, perfect conditions to elicit a good night's sleep. But Marshall's eyes would not close. He continued to stare at the ceiling, wondering why Mary reacted so negatively to his request that she be part of his wedding. She meant so much to him and he did not want to go through such an important milestone in his life without his best friend by his side. Marshall had been on the receiving end of Mary's fury many times, sometimes because he was a convenient target, sometimes because he deserved it. In either case, he always knew why Mary was angry. This time, he was having trouble figuring out what put him in the doghouse. In her most irate moment, she never pushed him away as she was currently doing._

_ Shifting to lay on his side, Marshall studied the woman sleeping to his left. Mary was on her side, facing him, and in the light from the bright display of the alarm clock, he could clearly see the features of her face. Her arm, bare from her shoulder to her wrist, rested on top of the comforter draped over her body. Her hand lay on the bed, clutching the edge of the comforter. Marshall bent his arm, propping his head on his palm. He reached for Mary, softly running the tip of his index finger over the back of her hand. She responded by tightening her grip on the comforter and drawing her arm closer to her body. Marshall smiled softly and reached for her again, this time his feathered touch grazing her cheek. He watched the wrinkle that briefly formed above her nose. Marshall took a deep breath, his smile fading as he felt a couple of tears slip from his eyes._

_ "Whatever I did," he whispered, "I'm sorry, Mare." Marshall carefully laid his hand over hers, fingers gently encircling her fist as he reinforced his hold. He lowered his head onto the pillow and closed his eyes, his slumber coming distressful._

"Mary," he said quietly, gently shaking her shoulder. "Mary, time to get up." She stirred under his touch, slowly taking a deep breath.

"Marshall?" she called softly. Then her eyes open. "Marshall!" Mary quickly sat up.

"Hey, hey. It's all right." Still kneeling on the floor, he softly rubbed her arms just above the elbow as she rebooted her conscious mind.

"How-how…Why are you here?"

"Stan sent me a text, said Brandi had the baby. I came to see how _Auntie_ _Mary_ was doing." Marshall smiled, but Mary ignored his goading remark.

"No, no. Marshall, you can't be here. Abigail is going to be—"

"Abigail is going to be fine, Mary," he said firmly as he rose to sit next to her. He rested his arm around her shoulders and took her hand. "How is your sister?"

"She's…she's good; resting now." Mary stared at the floor, then, slowly shaking her head, she scrunched her eyes.

"And the baby?" Marshall prodded. Mary turned to him.

"The baby's fine. He's fine." Marshall smiled.

"A boy, huh?" Mary allowed herself a quick, small smile then glanced at the clock on the wall.

"It's twelve-thirty in the morning, Marshall," she said as she ran a hand through her hair. "You should go home to Abigail." Mary deliberately shrugged off his arms and stood. Marshall followed, aggravated again by Mary's pushing.

"Mary, I—"

"Marshall! What a pleasant surprise!" The partners turned towards Jinx as she entered the room. "Have you seen the little one yet, Marshall?" she asked excitedly as she joined the two.

"Uh, no, I haven't," he answered. "I just got here." Though not looking directly at Mary, he did not miss the roll of her eyes. "Congratulations on another grandbaby," he said pleasantly.

"Oh, Mary, why don't you take Marshall to the nursery to see little Breindel."

"Yeah, Mary." Marshall turned to the aggravated blonde woman, his smile wide on his face. "Let's go to the nursery and see Breindel."

"Fine." Mary grabbed his elbow and forcefully led him from the waiting room. "Then you are going home," she said as they rounded the corner into the next hallway. Marshall looked around. Satisfied that they were alone in the corridor, he quickly freed his arm from Mary's grasp. He took both of her wrists, pushed her against the wall and pinned her hands to either side of her head. "Marshall! What the hell!"

"What's your problem?" he asked quietly, his face impassive.

"I don't have a problem," she bit back, trying to free her hands.

"Don't fight me," Marshall said, tightening his hold on her wrists. "I'm not letting go." He stepped into her. "I want you to listen, and carefully. I don't know what's been going on with you lately, but I've about had enough." Mary opened her mouth but Marshall stopped her words. "I said listen," he instructed, raising his eyebrows. "Tell me what I did to piss you off." She stared at him, jaw clenched.

"You didn't piss me off, Marshall." Mary struggled again against Marshall's restraint, stopping only when she saw a flicker of anger flash across his eyes.

"Something's wrong here, Mare," he said tightly. "And I want it fixed."

"Fixed? _You_ want it _fixed_?" Mary scoffed shaking her head. "If you had any fricken idea of what needed—"

"Marshall, Mary. Hi." Neither turned as Peter walked towards them. Marshall tilted his head slightly to the side; his fingers tightened just a touch around Mary's skin. It was an indication that he was not concerned with being discovered detaining her against the wall. Holding Mary's eyes, he slowly released her hands and backed away from the wall.

"Peter, congratulations," Marshall said, reaching to shake the new father's hand. Mary looked at Peter. If he had any question about what he witnessed, he wasn't letting on. "We were just on our way to see Breindel." Marshall's eyes flicked to Mary, silently telling her that he was not finished with the conversation. Peter smiled and passed, motioning for them to follow. Taking one more corner, the three stopped in front of the large nursery window.

"There he is," Peter said proudly, lightly tapping the glass. "Breindel Hallan Alpert. Third basket from the left."

"He's beautiful," Marshall said. "Breindel. That's Hebrew, isn't it?"

"Yes. Brandi picked it out. It means 'blessings'." Peter touched the glass softly. "Which he certainly is. And 'Hallan' is my father's name." Mary waited an impatient moment as the two spoke, before reaching for Marshall's arm.

"Time to say 'good-bye', Marshall." She turned to Peter. "Marshall's kind of on call since I have the day off," she explained with a stiff smile. After the men said their good-byes, Mary placed her hand on Marshall's back and shoved him towards the corner. "There," she said when they were again in the empty hallway. "You got to see the baby. Now go home."

"No," Marshall said firmly. "You and I are going to take a ride." As he reached for Mary's arm, she hopped back a couple steps out of his reach.

"I don't fucking think so," she said with an angry glare. She jogged a few feet ahead of Marshall.

"I do." He caught up and pulled her to his side, hiding his grip on her arm between their bodies. "Try not to make a scene," he said as they approached the waiting room. "Tell your mother we're leaving." Mary shot Marshall a sharp look.

"I should tell her you're kidnapping me."

"Go ahead. See what happens," Marshall threatened. Mary sighed as they entered the waiting room. Marshall kept Mary close as she collected her coat from the back of a chair. Jinx noticed Mary and Marshall's presence and excused herself from the conversation she was sharing with Peter's parents. She was concerned with the anxious look on her daughter's face.

"Mary?"

"Uh, Marshall and I are going to leave for a little bit," Mary started.

"Is something wrong?" Jinx asked.

"No, Mom. Just some work stuff Marshall needs to tell me," she assured her mother.

"I won't keep her long," Marshall promised, leaving Jinx no opportunity to argue as he pushed Mary through the door into the hallway and towards the hospital's entrance. Once beyond the doors and into the cold night air, Mary ripped her arm from Marshall's grasp.

"Anything you need to say, you can say right here, Marshall," she said, pulling her coat around her shoulders.

"Yeah, I talk until you decide you don't want to listen." He gestured towards the hospital. "And here sits a big fucking building for you to hide in. No." Marshall shook his head. "We're going someplace where there's nowhere for you to run."

**^m*m^**

The tension between Mary and Marshall escalated during the silent twenty minute drive from the hospital to an abandoned bar just outside of town. Marshall pulled the SUV into the parking lot, releasing his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel and roughly shifting the gears into park. Mary threw open the passenger door and exited the vehicle, unable to contain her anger any longer.

"What the hell is so damned important that you couldn't tell me at the hospital? Huh?" she bit as Marshall slammed the driver's door. "Why did we have to come out to…to…" Mary looked around, gesturing with raised hands. "Where the _hell_ are we?"

"That doesn't matter," Marshall said as he met Mary in front of the car. "Talk to me, Mare."

"I have nothing to say to you, Marshall."

"I'm through fighting with you, Mary. We need to get past this." Marshall stood in front of her, as close as he could be without touching her. "I can't do this without you."

"Do what?"

"Life, Mare. I can't…I don't _want_ to do this without you."

"Oh, we are _so_ not having this fucking conversation right now." Mary shook her head and brushed past her partner. Marshall's arm snapped from his side, securing itself around her waist. He pulled her back to him, placing her between his body and the vehicle's hood.

"We are _absolutely_ having this fucking conversation right now." Marshall searched her eyes. He knew better than to classify what he saw in those green orbs as 'fear', but he could not think of another word. "Mare, tell me. What's going on in here?" He raised his hand, fingers grazing her temple.

"Don't, Marshall." Mary pushed, forcing him a step backwards. He quickly regained his footing and pushed back. "Marshall, please," she whispered as he leaned his hands on the hood. Tears started to form in her eyes as she looked everywhere but at him.

"Don't what, Mary? Why are you so scared?" He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her gaze upwards. Mary froze as she met Marshall's eyes. She tried to hold back the tears, but she could no longer control it.

"I'm not scared." The firmness she intended to convey abandoned her words and she stood before Marshall, 'I'm fucking terrified' written across her face. "Marshall, you can't do this." Mary regained a bit of composure and unloaded. "It's not fair. You can't ask me to be okay enough to leave you alone and let you have your pretty little life with Abigail, and then turn around and demand to know how I am!"

"Mary, that's-"

"And-and then you ask me to be in your wedding and…what the hell does Abigail think about _that_? I can't come to you for-for anything but you can come to me and-and-"

"Mary, come on."

"—yet you just keep pulling me into your life-"

"Mary!" He grabbed her arms in a failed effort to gain her attention and stop her yelling.

"Don't!" she screamed, pulling her arms from his hands. "I can't do it! All right? I can't!" Mary dropped her eyes to Marshall's shirt, unwilling to witness his reaction to her words. "I can't let what we are, what we _were_ be ruined…I need a line, Marshall. One neither one of us can cross." Mary swallowed hard. "I never needed to depend on anyone. I did just fine without my mother or-or my father. Without my sister. I made it on my own. _I_ did that." Marshall watched his defeated partner as she slumped against the SUV. "And I'll continue to make it on my own. I have to do this without you, Marshall." Mary took a deep breath and dropped her eyes to the dry dirt beneath her feet. "I don't need you anymore. You're free, just like you wanted to be."

"Mary." Marshall's expression saddened. He understood what was happening; she knew she was pushing him away. It was deliberate. He mentally kicked himself for not seeing it before this point. "I get it," he whispered. Marshall, again, lifted her chin, searching her eyes, praying he was wrong. "Please, Mary," he whispered. "Please don't do this."

"Marshall, let go," she whispered. Reluctantly doing as asked, he watched Mary quickly make her way to the other side of the SUV and climb into the back seat.

**^m*m^**

Peter waved his good-bye and watched as his parents' vehicle left the parking lot. He walked back into the hospital, heading towards the waiting room. Jinx sat quietly, smiling at the baby pictures she'd taken with her cell phone. He walked towards her, looking around for, but not finding, Mary's coat.

"Hey," he said as he sat next to Jinx.

"Oh, Peter." Jinx reached out and took his hand. "I am so happy for you and Brandi. You have a beautiful baby boy." Jinx held her phone so Peter could see the picture on the screen. "Bald, but beautiful." Peter smiled.

"Well, let's hope he gets his hair line from your side of the family." He ran a hand over his head. "The men in my family don't keep theirs for long." He stood and offered a hand to Jinx. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car." Jinx stood and Peter held up her coat. "Have you seen Mary?" he asked as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

"Oh, she left with Marshall almost an hour ago. There was some work thing he needed to tell her." Jinx hung the strap from her purse over her shoulder. "She should be back soon."

"Okay, okay. Thanks."

"Peter," Jinx's voice took on a firm, motherly tone as she turned to face him. "Is there something happening that I should know about?"

"No. Brandi wanted to talk to her before Mary went home." She eyed Peter, half-heartedly accepting his answer.

"All right." Jinx hooked her arm in Peter's and he led her from the hospital through the darkened parking lot. When they reached her car, Jinx turned and gave him a hug. "You may not be my son-in-law at the moment." She held up her hands. "And I'm not pushing one way or another. Whatever you and Brandi decide will be the right decision," she smiled. "But, I want you to know that I love you. And I have never seen my daughter as happy as she's been since she met you. You are family now, Peter Alpert." Peter smiled and Jinx hugged him once more before entering her car and driving away.

As Peter turned back to the building, his thoughts wondered to Mary. The situation that occurred between Mary and Marshall in the hallway had disturbed him. Peter always admired the bond the two shared. He had close friends, but no one as close to him as the marshals were to each other. At first, he thought he was witnessing an intimate moment between Mary and Marshall. He was initially embarrassed for interrupting, and then again, for thinking such thing when he knew Marshall was engaged to Abigail. As Peter neared the duo, he saw the panicked look on Mary's face and the indignant look on Marshall's. He chose to keep quiet, recognizing that his inquiring would only fan the embers so close to combusting.

"Hey, where did everyone go?" Peter stopped in front of Brandi's room as Mary moved through the hallway, pointing towards the waiting room behind her.

"They headed home. It _is_ almost two in the morning."

"Yeah."

"Brandi is settled in, out for the count now. You should go home, crash for a while."

"Yeah, okay. Um, I have a few things I need to do in the morning, but I'll stop by around noon." Peter nodded. "Good night, Peter," Mary said as she walked away. "Or morning, or whatever the hell it is."

"Did he hurt you?" he asked softly. Mary stopped and turned back to Peter.

"What?" she asked, trying to sound ignorant to his question.

"Did he hurt you?" he repeated just as gently. Mary looked away and shook her head.

"No."

"The two of you seemed to be in a very…heated conversation." Mary nodded and met Peter's eyes as he moved closer to her.

"Marshall didn't hurt me," she assured. Peter nodded, taking her word for face value.

"Okay. But, just for the record, if he ever does…" He stuffed his hands into his pants pockets and shrugged.

"Really?" Mary laughed. "'Cause, no offense, Peter, Marshall _does_ carry a gun."

"I know," he smiled.

"Thanks, Peter."

**^m*m^**

Marshall closed the front door and secured the lock before moving farther into the house. As he neared the end of the hallway, he could see the soft glow of the lamp from the living room covering the walls and the floor. Marshall tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and turned towards the couch, catching sight of Abigail. She was huddled in the corner of the couch, wrapped in her pink bathrobe, reading a book from Marshall's collection.

"Hey," Abigail smiled. "Boy or girl?" she asked excitedly as she closed the book.

"Boy," Marshall answered. He removed his black trench coat and carelessly draped it over a kitchen chair. "Breindel Hallan."

"That's such a cute name. Oh! Now that I know the baby is a boy, I can go shopping!" Abigail clapped her hands as Marshall took a seat next to her on the couch. "I forgot to ask you before you left to see the baby…" Abigail set the book on the coffee table and drew her legs under her body. "Have you talked to Mary about the wedding yet?"

_"What?" Mary asked._

_ "We want you to be in our wedding." Marshall held up a hand and shook his head. "I promise I won't make you wear a dress or do any of those girly things you loath." Mary stared at him. She shook her head slowly, feeling the anger she desperately fought bubble to the surface._

_ "Are you fucking serious?" Mary pushed herself off the bed._

_ "Uh, yes," Marshall answered with slow confusion._

_ "How can you ask…?" Mary rounded the foot of the bed, Marshall standing as she approached._

_ "Mary?" She ran a hand through her hair._

_ "No, no, no, Marshall." Mary pointed a finger at him. "No, you can't…you do __**not**__ get to ask that!" She stalked towards the bathroom._

_ "So that's a 'no'?" Marshall asked, enraged by Mary's attitude. Mary grabbed the bathroom door in one hand, the frame in the other. She leaned through the doorway just enough to see Marshall._

_ "Um, yeah, Dumbass," she snapped. "That's definitely a fucking 'no'." Marshall jumped as Mary slammed the door. He closed his eyes, willing his calm to come quickly. He turned towards the motel room's door when he heard a soft knock._

_ "Charlie's Pizza," the muffled voice announced. Marshall sighed and opened the door._

Abigail watched her fiancé as he leaned forward. He rested his elbows on his knees, crossed his fingers and set his chin on his thumbs. "Marshall? Earth to Spaceman Spiff," she played, softly touching his arm.

"Sorry, Abigail." He turned towards her and offered a hollow smile. "What did you ask?"

"Have you talked to Mary about being in the wedding?"

"Yeah." He dropped his hands, letting them hang loosely in the air between his knees and looked away.

"Great!" Abigail smiled. "So what is she going to do?"

"She's not going to do anything, Abs." Abigail frowned.

"But I thought you wanted Mary to be a part of—"

"I do," Marshall bit. "But that's not how it's going to happen, all right? Mary doesn't want it that way." He stood, waving a dismissive hand, and headed towards the bedroom. "She has the invite. If she wants to come she will, if not…" Marshall crossed the room and entered the bathroom, roughly closed the door. Abigail stood in the middle of the living room, stunned by Marshall's reaction. She sighed when she heard the shower start, knowing she would get nothing more from Marshall. Abigail turned off the living room lamp and entered the bedroom. She pulled the covers towards the middle of the bed and slipped into their warmth.

**^m*m^**

After a few hours of sleep and a quick breakfast, it had not taken long for Mary to assemble the crib and place it near the foot of Brandi's bed. Despite Brandi's very forward hints that the furniture needed to be baby-ready by the time her little one was born, Mary continued to put off helping her sister with the task. When Peter had arrived at the Shannon house, Mary warned him that lifting a finger to put the baby's bed together would result in serious bodily harm. The older sister wanted nothing more than to surprise Brandi.

Mary dropped the empty plastic packaging on the floor, landing it just outside of the garbage bag. She unfolded the soft, light-green material, locating the elastic-sewn corners. She gave the sheet a good shake, releasing the rest of the creases. Mary smiled gently as she laid the sheet over the small bed, tucking the elastic in its rightful place under the mattress corners. She grabbed another bag, pulling out a green- and white-checkered bumper pad. She tied it securely to the crib's spindles and then reached back into the bag for the miniature comforter. Mary held up the tiny blanket, smiling at the golden bear face that stared back at her.

_ "Oh, don't cry, Squish." Mary pushed herself off the floor and ran to the toy basket on the other side of the living room. She searched through the beaten up toys for the doll she knew her sister liked the most. "Here he is." Mary returned to her sister's side, sitting on the tattered green blanket spread out along the floor. "Hold on tight," she said to the fifteen-month-old. Brandi reached for the worn bear, holding it tightly to her chest. Mary laid her head on the pillow, patting the area next to her. "Lie down, Squish." Brandi cuddled up to her sister._

_ "Nee, nee," Brandi said. "Pa."_

_ "That's right. Winnie the Pooh." Mary slipped her arm around her sister and started to sing their favorite song, settling both of them into a soft slumber._

"Oh, Mary." Jinx stood behind her daughter, resting her hands on Mary's shoulders as she took in the sight of the dark-stained crib. "Brandi is going to love this. It's perfect." Mary smiled. "Do you remember that bear that she used to carry around?" she asked, pointing to the blanket.

"I do," Mary nodded.

"Ugh, it was so worn and filthy. But she loved it."

"Check this out." Mary folded the comforter over the crib's railing and reached around the side of the crib for the diaper bag. "Look inside," she said, handing the bag to her mother. Jinx opened the bag, tears immediately filling her eyes as she saw the object inside. She pulled out a fuzzy, golden bear, identical to the one from Brandi's childhood. "How's _that_ for awesome big sister?" Mary smiled proudly.

**^m*m^**

"Morning, Abs." Marshall leaned over Abigail's shoulder and softly kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry for getting snippy with you last night," he said as he wound his arms around her waist. She leaned her head back, resting it on his chest just below his shoulder.

"It was a long night, Marshall. A long couple of days. It's all right." Abigail turned in his arms and looked sadly into his eyes. "I've been thinking about what you said last night. What did you mean by 'if she wants to come, she will'? Is Mary really not going to be there?"

"Abs," Marshall said, closing his eyes against the pain of his conversation with Mary.

"Marshall, I didn't mean that you had to drop _all_ contact with Mary. I understand how important she is to you and I do not want to come between the two of you. But-but that's exactly what seems to be happening."

"I know, Abs, I know. Come here." Marshall led Abigail to the couch, taking her hands as they sat. "Abigail…Mary is my best-" Abigail rolled her eyes.

"I know all of this, Marshall."

"Let me finish. She's my best friend. She knows more about me than anyone."

"Including me," she added defensively.

"Including you," he admitted. "But, Abigail, you and I, we're…we're getting married. We have a life time of, of learning and discovery ahead of us." Abigail nodded.

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"I'm the only one who has ever really taken the time to get to know Mary. Her walls...they are built…_so_ high. It takes times for her to trust someone. I am the one person she trusts irrevocably, the one person where the trust came so easily for her. I have been a constant in her life. If she calls and, for whatever reason, I can't leave to help her…she loses that stability." Abigail nodded her understanding.

"So Mary is just walking away from you; letting go completely."

"She has to, Abigail. It's how she protects herself." Marshall sighed in frustration, not sure how to explain himself. "Mary and I…our relationship is complicated, complex and…and…I don't know what else. She doesn't compromise. We don't do 'meet in the middle'." Marshall ran his thumb over the back of Abigail's hand; head down as he continued. "Mary's life is like-like a staring contest. She's spirited and tough and she likes to challenge, to make others blink and back down." Marshall looked into Abigail's eyes. "Mary blinked, Abs, willingly. If she's the one who backs down, ends the relationship, then she can't say that she was abandoned. What we meant to each other stays safe and I don't become just another person who has failed her." Marshall took a deep breath. "She blinked for me…for us. She blinked so we could be happy." Abigail knew Mary Shannon to be a strong woman, but she was beginning to think she had utterly underestimated the U.S. marshal.


	5. Chapter 5

a/n: A big **Thank** **You** to everyone who has read and/or reviewed, and to everyone who has patiently waited while I took forever to finish this chapter. So much happens in this chapter and I wanted to make sure it didn't read choppy. (Fingers crossed.) We start a week after the birth of Brandi's little one and fast forward through a couple of months, hitting some important points along the way. I'm going with the consensus that Marshall has three brothers. And when you read the exercise flashback, just so y'all know that I'm not trying to be disrespectful…After the birth of my first child, when my doctor told me about the exercises I could do to tighten my tummy muscles I laughed so hard I nearly peed my pants. Me and exercise…Oil and water. To all of the mothers out there, **nothing** is more beautiful than a woman who sacrifices everything to create and sustain another life.

Disclaimer: I have no claim to anything IPS-ish. The "Little People" reference a ways through the story is of the Fisher Price variety. "Law and Order" is property of the amazing Dick Wolf. Cookies to everyone who gets the "Binney and Smith" snark. No cheating, though. Don't look it up first…Silly gooses : )

**Chapter Five**

"We are gathered today in the sight of God to join Marshall and Abigail in Holy Matrimony." Gently bouncing Norah on her knee, Mary numbly stared at the program in her daughter's hands as the minister started the ceremony. Lovely-gilded black lettering floated over the thick ivory paper. A thin line of pink outlined the front page, settled just under the gently scalloped edges. Mary lifted her eyes, focusing on the bridal party at the front of the church. Marshall and his three brothers looked handsome in their tuxedos. The magenta-colored fabric swatches worn in the front pockets of their jackets didn't detract from their appearance as Mary would have thought them to.

_ "Oh, how nice! You and your brothers get to walk around in hot pink tuxes!" Mary laughed. "Blows the powder blue look right out of the water," she said, her hands mimicking a growing plume._

_ "We're wearing black tuxes, Mary. Our __**pocket**__**squares**__ are going to be colored." Marshall narrowed his eyes. "And it's not 'hot pink'," he argued. "It's 'magenta'." Mary stared blankly at her partner._

_ "First of all, don't say 'pocket squares' and second of all, hot pink, magenta…what's the difference?" she asked with a dismissive shrug._

_ "Oh, I'm so glad you asked." Marshall removed his feet from his desk and sat forward in his chair, his smile wide._

_ "No, no, Marshall," Mary whined. "That was a rhetorical question."_

_ "The difference lies mainly in the amount of green coloring. Hot pink contains twenty-nine units of green, whereas magenta contains one hundred units."_

_ "Holy shit, Marshall." Mary covered her ears and loudly thumped her forehead on her desk._

_ "There's also a difference in the amount of red and blue coloring, though not as significant," he continued. "Hot pink has two hundred forty-six units of red, magenta two hundred fifty-five. Hot pink two hundred six units of blue, magenta one hundred seventy-five units." Mary peeked at Marshall from under her arm._

_ "Are you finished now, Binney and Smith?"_

_ "Go ahead," Marshall laughed proudly, leaning back in his chair. "Ask me about another color."_

Abigail looked gorgeous. She wore a white, strapless dress, plain but for a soft spray of beads around the waist. The lower half of the dress sported a small amount of volume, which served to accentuate her slightly taller, slender frame. Her hair was gathered in a large batch of curls on the crown of her head, a single ringlet hanging along either side of her face. Abigail's veil, also plain, circled her curls and hung to her elbows. It offered a soft glow that in no way compared to the happy-in-love glow she radiated. The bridesmaids, two of Abigail's cousins and her best friend, also looked beautiful. They wore dresses that mirrored the style of the bride's dress. The magenta color was the same as the pocket squares worn by the male half of the group.

"Marriage is a union in which a husband and his wife share with each other the love that comes from the purest parts of their hearts."

_ "I'm going to call a quick time out. Everything okay with you?" Marshall asked._

_ "What? Besides a witness who—"_

_ "I mean," he interrupted, "is everything okay…with __**you**__?" He pulled his eyes from the road, sending a serious glance towards Mary._

_ "Oh," she realized, remaining silent for a moment. "Things with Raph are good, __**really**__ good." she said. "So-" she drifted off with a slight shake of her head._

_ "So?" Marshall prodded._

_ "I should be happier about that." Marshall heard the defeat behind those words._

_ "And what are you?" he asked. She dropped her eyes to her hands, fidgeting in the space above her lap._

_ "Scared," she answered after a long pause. "Pissed…Guilty." Marshall again turned his eyes to her as she shared her thoughts. "And happy. Happy's in there."_

_ "Somewhere?"_

_ "Happy's under a bit of a pile," she admitted._

_ "How come?" Marshall felt his heart drop, saddened that she could not find happiness in the good presented in her life._

"_I think I want something that just doesn't exist," she answered. "I want something that's just right. No argument or doubt, which is insane, right?" She looked in Marshall's direction but did not look at him. "Because there's __**always**__ argument, there's __**always**__...doubt. So…I guess what I'm after here is the insane goal of an insane person."_

_ "I would say…it's the __**ideal**__ goal…" Mary finally looked at Marshall's face. "…of someone who has somehow managed to protect the purest part of her heart," he explained. "Which does not seem insane to anyone who really knows you."_

_ "Which would be you and you," she offered softly. Marshall turned towards her, Mary sharing a small yet grateful smile._

"I, Marshall, take you, Abigail, to be my wife, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward, until death do us part." Marshall slid the ring into its rightful position on Abigail's finger. She looked at him, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye as she returned his smile. Mary never understood why people cried at weddings. The exchange of rings and vows was merely a show of love made official by a notarized piece of paper. The couple would return to their normal, everyday lives, changed only where the bride penned her husband's last name instead of the one with which she was born.

"I, Abigail, take you, Marshall, to be my husband, to have and to hold, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish from this day forward, until death do us part." As Abigail took her turn to place Marshall's ring, Mary watched the couple as their dreams and goals for their future lives became apparent in their smiles. As Mary focused on Marshall's face, seeing in his eyes that he was truly happy, she felt that miserable pit of unidentified anguish deepen a little more.

"Hey," Mark whispered, softly nudging Mary's elbow. "Quit staring off into space. You're going to miss it." Mary nodded as Mark turned his attention to the front of the church. Doing the same, she took in the smiles of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen, Abigail and Marshall. Marshall, her best friend, her rock, her sanity. Her past. For everything he'd done for her, been for her, in their ten years of friendship, she owed him, in the very least, her undivided attention at this important moment in his life.

"I now pronounce you Husband and Wife." The minister looked at Marshall. "You may kiss your bride," he smiled. Marshall pulled Abigail close, softly and lovingly kissing her mouth. Abigail turned to her maid of honor and retrieved her bouquet of long-stemmed lilies, then hooked her arm in Marshall's as they moved to face the congregation. "Family, friends, it is my honor to introduce to you Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Mann." The crowd erupted into applause and whistles. Mary turned to Mark, who smiled and clapped along with the rest of the assembly. He leaned over, putting his mouth next to Norah's ear. He held his hands in front of her, letting her mimic the clapping motion. Mary smiled sadly when Mark sat up straight and met her eyes. She took Norah's small hands in her own and clapped softly.

**^m*m^**

Mary tucked Norah into her little coat and slipped the fuzzy pink hat over her head. Making a few silly sounds, she settled Norah into the car seat, calming the little one from her exhausted tantrum. After clasping the buckles, Mary trailed a finger over the bottom of her daughter's foot. The tickling turned Norah's cries into soppy giggles.

"Here you are." Mark returned to the table, handing Mary her coat. "I'll take Norah out to the van. Do you want me to pull up to the door?" he asked, slipping his arm into his coat sleeves.

"Sure," Mary nodded. "I'm just going to say 'good-bye' to Marshall. I won't be long." Mark nodded and pulled the car seat from the tabletop. Mary watched as the two wound through the now-empty tables. With the dinner finished and the cake served, everyone had begun to mingle and make their way to the dance floor, dancing to a handful of songs as they anxiously awaited the bride and groom's first dance as a married couple. Mary scanned the growing crowd, looking for her tall, lanky partner, spotting him on the far side of the reception hall. She sighed, thankful that he was not in the middle of the crowd, rather standing along the outside of the pack, speaking to one of his brothers. She took a deep breath and made her way across the room.

"Hey." Mary offered a forced smile as she approached Marshall. His brother excused himself and disappeared into the crowd.

"Hey," Marshall returned, his smile genuine and full.

"I, uh, I came to say good-bye." Marshall's smile dropped immediately. "I have to get Norah home," she explained quickly.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." Marshall set his champagne glass on the table to his left and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "Mary…" He looked down, unable to meet her eyes. "I'm glad you came." Without lifting his head, he glanced at her.

"Yeah," she said, taking her turn to look away. She bit her lower lip softly. "Congratulations, Marshall," she said with a thin, but sincere smile. The partners finally made eye contact. "Really. I'm…happy for you." They looked to Marshall's right as his new bride joined his side. "For both of you." Abigail smiled as she hooked her arm around Marshall's arm.

"Thanks, Mary," Abigail said. A short, quiet moment stretched uncomfortably around them. Mary shifted her weight, taking a half step backwards as she broke the silence.

"Okay. I'm going to head out." She gave a half-assed wave and turned to walk away.

"Mary?" Marshall slipped from Abigail's embrace and took a few steps towards Mary. She took a deep, steadying breath and turned back to him. "Thank you." His voice was barely a whisper, forced from his lips. Abigail watched Mary, noting the glazed look in her eyes, the only indication of the tears Mary would not let fall in front of them.

"Have a safe trip to Hawaii." She turned and walked away. Abigail moved forward, taking Marshall's hand. He looked at her, smiled, and then flipped his eyes once more to Mary's retreating form. The small exchange shared would be last time he would have any personal interaction with his partner. Work would remain professional, void of tirades about Jinx and Brandi, void of stealing each other's donuts, void of spitball fights.

Void of "Mary and Marshall."

And all he could think about were the last four weeks, wasted and starved to nihility by their arguments and their stubbornness.

Mary forced herself to take controlled steps. She didn't want to appear as though she was running from the building, regardless of how badly she wanted to do just that. She pushed open the glass door; the wintery night air biting at the tears she didn't realize had fallen down her cheeks. Spotting her mini-van parked along the front curb, Mary quickly rubbed the back of her hands across her cheeks and headed towards the vehicle.

Mark watched Mary as she opened the side door, leaning in to make sure Norah was secure in the car seat. It was an unnecessary action but one Mark knew Mary would never outgrow. Satisfied with the restraints, Mary placed a soft kiss on Norah's head and closed the door. As quickly as she could without seeming rushed, Mary opened the door settled into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt. She sighed loudly, faking a smile as she turned to Mark.

"Some party, huh? Let's go," she said lightly. Mark simply stared at her. "Hey, it's way past Norah's bed time," she started, pushing the smile more. "If we don't get her home and settled in soon, she'll be—"

"Mary," Mark said gently. Mary's smile fell slowly as the tears again welled in her eyes.

"Not now, Mark." Mary choked back a sob. "Please." Mark nodded.

"Okay." He shifted the van into gear and reached for Mary's shoulder, squeezing gently as he started the journey home.

**^m*m^**

Mary swiped a hand over the bathroom mirror, wiping away the condensation. She tilted her head to the side, watching as the stripe she cleared slowly fogged over again. It prevented her from seeing a reflection she did not care to see. She did not want to face the unfamiliar emotions hiding behind her eyes. Norah had gone to sleep without a fuss, allowing Mary to step into the shower before heading to bed herself. The warm water had washed away some of the tension in Mary's muscles, letting her mind shift to other things. As she pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, her thoughts stalled over the crushing empty feeling in her stomach. Mary chastised herself for letting the emptiness consume her body and her mind. She had always been in control of her feelings. Since her father's abandonment of the family, Mary learned how to reign in the stray emotions, tuck them away and focus on whatever lay in front of her. Over the years, she refined those skills, mastered having no feelings to hold her back, no feelings to cloud her judgment, no feelings to leave her vulnerable and unprotected. Until the birth of her daughter, no one had been able to break through those barriers.

Except for Marshall.

Mary tipped her head backwards; taking a deep breath as she tightly closed her eyes. She left the bathroom, padding through her bedroom to Norah's crib. The little girl slept peacefully, tiny hands fisted loosely on either side of her head, holding the ears she had recently discovered. Her lips pursed as she made quiet sucking sounds. Mary smiled and rubbed her hand over Norah's fine and sparse blonde hair. Moving into the hallway, Mary headed towards the kitchen, quietly as not to wake Brandi and Peter as she passed their room. She turned the corner and jumped, startled by the figure leaning against the countertop in front of the sink.

"Jesus, Mark," she scolded, holding a hand over her heart. "I thought you went home."

"Nope." Mark unfolded his arms and pushed away from the counter. "I made Norah's bottle. It's in the fridge."

"Oh. Great. Thank you." Mary tucked a thick lock of damp hair behind her ear. "It's kind of late to be driving home. You're welcome to stay for the night." She smiled apologetically. "Brandi and Peter are in the other room with the baby. I'm sorry the couch is all I have to offer—"

"Mary." This second interruption was more firm than the first. She shook her head in weak warning. "You know, during the two months we dated and the five _glorious_ days we were married, I thought about starting a family with you, thought about having children. I honestly thought we would have the two and half kids, the split-level ranch, the white picket fence…" He smiled as his voice trailed off. "It didn't happen the way I planned, but…" He shrugged. "I wouldn't trade our little girl for anything. I love her." Mark moved to Mary's side, Mary refusing to look at him. "And I love _you_, Mary. We're never going to be husband and wife or-or live as the ideal mom and dad," he said, hands gesturing back and forth between their bodies. "And that's all right. This works for us. But, as the mother of my child, you are part of my family, like it or not." Mark's voice quieted, now barely above a whisper. "And I don't like it when someone in my family is hurting." Mary crossed her arms in front of her chest and dropped her head. Her carefully constructed world started to implode; meticulously assembled walls of self-protection crumbled and rained like hot volcanic ash around her.

"I should be happy for him," she said quietly. "And I am. I _am_ happy for him." Mary looked at Mark. He nodded slowly. "Marshall is a great man; he deserves to have someone love him. And Abigail is…she's wonderful. She's sweet and charming. And-and she's smart and she puts up with his mind-numbing spouts of useless information which, believe me, primes her for sainthood." Mary paused. "She loves him and she makes him happy and that is a _fraction_ of what he deserves from life."

"Do you love him?"

"Of course, I love him. He's my best friend, Mark." She dropped her head.

"Are you…in love with him?"

"What?" Mary met Mark's eyes. "I don't…no, I…He's my best friend and I couldn't…It-it's not-"

"Mary." He put his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her body squarely to his.

"It shouldn't…_I_ shouldn't feel like this, Mark," she said softly. "It's not supposed to hurt this much." Mark wrapped his arms around Mary and held her tightly as she cried.

**^m*m^**

Stan had expected a fight, or a heated exchange of words, or even a pitching of supplies across the office sometime in the week before Marshall's wedding, but, to his surprise, and more so to his relief, that moment had not come. The last thing he wanted to witness was an all-out brawl between his inspectors whose relationship was on irrefutably unstable terms. The charged air that had settled over the WitSec office throughout the previous eighteen months seemed to have dissipated over that week; and that gave Stan hope that Mary and Marshall were repairing the divergence.

Then the day of Marshall's wedding arrived and Stan became nervous. He had witnessed the short exchange between Mary and Marshall during the reception. He watched from the back of the room as Mary neared her partner. She took several deep breaths and her hands restlessly clenched at her sides. As the two came together, their actions were awkward, as though they were strangers. Neither could look the other in the eyes and the words that left their mouths were few. From the corner of his eye, Stan spotted Abigail, gracefully navigating past family members to reach her husband's side. Stan, captivated by the sight, could not look away as his mind raced through an infinite number of possible impending scenarios, none of which he figured to end on a good note. His inspectors, after all, seemed to have impeccable timing for their broils. Again, Stan was pleasantly surprised as the three traded uncomfortable yet friendly smiles. Stan couldn't hold back a smile of his own, his belief in their mending renewed.

Now, as Stan stood in the doorway of his office watching Mary, his uneasiness waited in the wings. She stared, for the third successive day, at Marshall's empty desk from behind her own. He'd ignored the behavior Monday, knowing Mary was never at her friendliest on the first day of the workweek. Tuesday, he'd become curious, trying to decipher the expressions that passed across her face, a task that was quickly squelched as he realized he was ill equipped to name Mary's emotions. This morning, he wondered if he should expect this type of mannerism until Marshall's return in a week and a half. His pensiveness, however, was short-lived, turning to concern by mid-morning. Mary went through the day's routine without falter. She asked Delia to accompany her on a visit to a newer witness, still settling into his revamped life. Stan was shocked to see Mary and Delia return to the office walking side by side, laughing together and each sipping from her own Burger King drink cup. The rest of the day continued as such, the conversations held between the two women were relaxed and sociable, their actions familiar and friendly. Stan cautiously welcomed the change.

"Inspector?" Stan called from the office doorway. When he received no answer, he moved across the room. "Mary?" he repeated softly as he approached her desk. She turned towards Stan and blinked.

"Oh, here." Mary gathered a handful of file folders from her desk and handed them to the chief. He laughed light-heartedly as he skimmed through the folders.

"I wasn't expecting these for another week. I thought you'd make Marshall do them when he was back." Mary offered a sad smile, appreciating Stan's attempt to lighten her mood. "A 'welcome home' gift."

"Yeah, well…Two weeks is a long time to be gone. I really should go easy on him. You know, to start with." Mary shrugged unconvincingly. Stan nodded.

"Mary, why don't you head home? It's been a quiet day and it is almost quitting time." He let a large smile play across his lips. "I bet you're itchin' to see that beautiful little girl of yours." Mary showed a small, sincere smile.

"I am," she said.

"So go home." Stan started back towards his office. "Give that little bald head a kiss from Uncle Stan," he called over his shoulder before closing the office door.

"I will," Mary answered quietly. "I will."

**^m*m^**

Marshall set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the end table and turned off the lamp, the room now bathed solely in the light from the Christmas tree. He sat on the floor and leaned back against the front of the couch. Bending his legs, he rested his forearms on his knees and studied the tree in front of him. White lights littered the branches, creating a soft glow around the dark green needles. The gold tinsel, wrapped loosely around the tree, accentuated the glow and reflected sprinkles of light around the room. Glittered ornament balls were scattered around the branches. Marshall had been leery about Abigail's choice of color, but upon seeing the gold, red and black ornaments, he enjoyed the elegance of the look. It was very different from the multi-colored decorations he remembered from his childhood, but the warmth and the magical feeling remained just as strong.

Marshall's eyes wandered to the small space beneath the tree, filled with a handful of meticulously wrapped presents.

_ "For the love of Pete, Marshall. Just pick a bow," Abigail laughed._

_ "I can't just 'pick a bow'," Marshall mocked with a smile. "Wrapping a present is a string of important aesthetic decisions. Choosing the right wrapping paper sets the foundation for the entire gift opening experience. It should match the purpose of the present. For example…"_

_ "Oh, boy." Abigail gave a lighthearted roll of her eyes as Marshall reached across the table and grabbed a box. _

"_This is a pack of Little People for Norah." He set the box on the table. "It's a toy, it's fun, so we need a playful wrapping paper." Marshall pulled a roll of paper from the plastic tote box. "This has cute cartoony santas and elves." Abigail watched as her husband cut the paper to size and proceeded to demonstrate perfect folding, amused by the crinkle that settled over his forehead. His concentration increased as he focused on lining up the pattern where the paper overlapped. "Now, the background is light blue and between the Christmas trees and elves, there is a lot of green."_

_ "But not much red," Abigail offered._

_ "Right," Marshall smiled._

_ "Well, okay." Digging into the tote, she found a red bow and a roll of red ribbon. "Hmm…I think we need a bigger bow." She retrieved another bow as Marshall skillfully wrapped the ribbon around the present. He stepped aside, Abigail taking the open spot. Gently pulling the square piece of paper from the sticky patch, she placed the bow on top of the box. She pressed her finger into the middle of the bow, securing it to the package. "Perfect," she said, smiling proudly. _

Sighing, Marshall's focus stayed on Norah's perfectly wrapped present. The four weeks since his return from Hawaii had been a rebuilding of Mary and Marshall's professional rapport. It was not the close friendship shared over the years, and he did not expect it to reach that level, but it was time together that, little by little, became less uncomfortable. They were learning how to work with each other without pushing the limits of their self-imposed perimeters. Though he would never tell Mary, he was elated when she asked to hear his minutiae, believing it was the clearing of the first of the hurdles placed before them.

_ Mary sighed as she loudly drummed her fingers on the faux wood armrest. She looked across the small rectangular coffee table at her partner, content as he read a Popular Science magazine. Without lifting her head, she peered over Marshall, scanning the ever-changing flight names and times._

_ "I can hear you rolling your eyes," Marshall said, eyes still focused on the magazine._

_ "The damned flight has been delayed __**again**__. Our witness isn't even here yet and he's already causing trouble." She leaned into the back of the hard, wooden chair, raising her hips and stretching her legs. "My ass hurts." Marshall looked up, eyebrow raised. "Well, it does," Mary defended. Shaking his head, Marshall returned to his reading._

_ "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to help you in this situation, Mary." She changed her position again as she studied her partner._

_ "Christmas is two weeks away," she said._

_ "That is fact." Mary tapped her hand on her knee._

_ "Don't you have some useless something or other? You know, to take my mind off the pain?" Marshall flipped the page in the magazine and shrugged._

_ "Tinsel is a German invention." From the corner of his eye, he saw the smile Mary thought she was hiding. "It was invented around 1610, during which time they actually used silver to construct the garland."_

The connection they were forging was fragile in its infancy and Marshall did not want to overstep the boundaries by giving Norah the present. He loved seeing Norah grow over the short nine months of her existence. The amount of information her little head captured constantly amazed him. Mary knew Marshall cherished Norah and he hoped she would accept her daughter's gift.

Marshall thought about the changes that had taken place in Mary since Norah's birth. Mary was much more patient with witness, co-workers, family. She had even taken a softer tone of voice with the waitress at their favorite diner. Marshall would admit to anyone who asked, that he thoroughly enjoyed the stunned look on the waitress' face the first time Mary thanked the young woman for her meal. Mary showed more outward concern for others. She seemed willing to help witnesses settle into their new lives. She paid more attention to finding decent jobs and apartments, and she took the time to ask about a witness' preference in food before she made the initial grocery trip; something, on nearly every occasion, Mary very loudly declared she hated. She had also taken Brandi under her wing, giving advice and support throughout her sister's pregnancy, as well as after the delivery. The more Marshall thought about it, the more he realized it wasn't a change. It was a release of behavior already present; behavior Mary buried to prevent herself from becoming vulnerable to others. He didn't care what Mary believed to be the case, Marshall thought motherhood looked good on his partner.

_"You know, no woman, after nine months of carrying all of that extra weight and hours of painful labor, should have to endure an ungodly amount of sit ups and lunges and-and leg raises to get her body back to its normal shape."_

_ "Oh, Mary," Marshall laughed._

"_What?"_

"_Sit ups, lunges and leg raises," he repeated with a shake of his head. "Let's do this one at a time. How many sit-ups are you supposed to do?"_

_ "Thirty. Two sets of fifteen," she answered._

_ "And how often?"_

_ "Every other day."_

_ "And how many do you do?"_

_ "Five. Maybe." She shrugged. "Sometimes."_

_ "Mm-hmm. And how often?"_

_ "Once a week. Maybe." She shrugged again. "Sometimes." Marshall laughed._

_ "I don't think we need to explore the other two exercises," he mumbled under his breath. "I'm sure the answers are the same." He sat back in his chair. "How many donuts have you had today?" Mary narrowed her eyes._

_ "Stan!" she yelled, her eyes never leaving her partner. "Marshall says I'm fat!"_

_ "Marshall, don't call Mary fat!" the chief called from his office. Mary stuck out her tongue._

_ "Ha!" She turned back to her papers for the briefest of moments before thoughtfully tapping her pen on the desk and slowly gazing towards Marshall. "Marshall, who brought the donuts today?"_

_ "I did," he answered._

_ "Mm-hmm. And did you bring the donuts yesterday?"_

_ "Yes," he said slowly, sitting forward in his chair as he tried to predict Mary's train of thought._

_ "Huh. Interesting." She gestured towards Marshall. "So, you, knowing my great love of all things exercise, bring donuts, knowing my great love of all things pastry…two days in a row…" She trailed off as she tilted her head to the side. "You __**want**__ me to stay fat," she accused._

_ "Wh-what?"_

_ "Yeah. I get it now," she said with a nod. "You keep me fat, no one bothers a second look in my direction and __**you**__…have all of this to yourself." Mary floated her hand in the air in front of her, circling from her head to her waist._

_ "Oh, you have foiled my master plan," Marshall deadpanned._

_ "Sheesh, Pervus." Mary flicked her pen at Marshall. "Get back to work."_

Baby weight, no baby weight, Marshall would never see Mary as anything but beautiful, and in no moment more than when she held Norah in her arms and softly kissed her forehead. He had always wanted children of his own, and being around Mary when she was oblivious to everything but her daughter only deepened that desire. He longed to see that same look of love on the face of _his_ children's mother.

"Hey, Honey. What are you thinking?" As Abigail sat on the couch behind him, Marshall rested his arm across her knees and leaned his shoulder against her hip. He stayed quiet as she absently ran her fingers through his hair.

"We've been married for six weeks already," he commented after his brief silence.

"You say that as though it's a bad thing."

"No," Marshall smiled. "It is certainly a good thing." He shifted to face her, kneeling on the floor. "It's just that the last six weeks have gone by so quickly. Before you know it we're going to be old and grey with little ones running around and calling us 'Grandma' and 'Grandpa'," he laughed. "I don't want our time together to seem so short." Abigail nodded her understanding.

"You want it to seem so long that I get sick of having you around?" she teased.

"Yeah," Marshall answered. "I would rather spend a hundred years with you and have you say you no longer love me, than spend one hundred days with you telling me you love me every day."

"Oh, well, you are in luck. The women in my family tend to live long lives." She freed a hand from Marshall's grasp, using her fingers to count her examples. "Great-Grandma Chaffee lived to the ripe old age of ninety-eight. Grandma Jenkins lived to be ninety-four. Great-Aunt Annie was three weeks away from her hundredth birthday when she passed. I plan on sticking around a long time, Buster." Marshall laughed and pushed himself off the floor and onto the couch. He placed his hands on the cushions to either side of Abigail's body and leaned in to kiss her.

**^m*m^**

Mary lay on her side, watching her daughter play with the Little People she received from Marshall and Abigail for Christmas. Norah stuffed four of the plastic dolls, two pigs, a cow and the farmer, into the silo tethered just to the left of the red barn. She turned to her mother, the head of the rooster sticking out from between her lips.

"Ew, Bug, that's gross," Mary laughed. She coaxed the bird from Norah's mouth and moved it to the fence, placing it over a square peg. "See? Mr. Rooster sits here on top of the fence and screams at the top of his lungs when it's time for the farmer to wake up." Norah knocked over the fence. "Just like you, Bug." Mary had not wanted to take the gift from her partner and his wife, worried that her acceptance would be an invitation for a more personal association. Mary was just getting comfortable with the new arrangements of their partnership. She knew that if she and Marshall were to rebuild that personal relationship, at some point they would have to tear it down again. Mary was certain she could not survive another complicated parting.

_ Mary heard the knock at the door, immediately wondering why her mother didn't just come in. She rose, settling Norah on her hip, and moved to the door._

_ "Oh, hi," she greeted, surprised by her guests, clad in red Santa hats._

_ "Hi, Mary," Abigail returned, her southern accent strong in her cheerfulness. "Merry Christmas!" Mary stepped back, opening the door and motioning with a tilt of her head for the two to enter._

_ "I know that you have plans with your family tonight, so we won't stay long." Marshall pulled his red Santa bag off his shoulder, opening it so Abigail could reach inside and retrieve a gift. Mary looked at the package, santas and elves surrounding the box, some peeking from underneath a bright red ribbon. "This is for my Norah Bean," he smiled proudly as Abigail gently pushed the package towards Mary._

_ "Um, thank you. You guys didn't have to—"_

_ "But we wanted to," Abigail interrupted. "It's Norah's first Christmas. She deserves to be spoiled." Mary was bothered by their act of kindness, concerned that the newly drawn lines of their friendship were being crossed. But when she saw the blissful look in the couple's eyes, Mary, unwilling to create a seed of contention, humbly accepted the gift._

Mary lifted her eyes from the barn to the living room window. A large amount of oversized snowflakes floated past the window, surrounded in an almost angelic haze from the glow of the street lamp across the road. Snow in Albuquerque didn't usually come in more than a handful of inches, but the last three days proved to be the exception to the rule. Early in the morning of Christmas Eve, the snow had started, light and sparse throughout the day, lending to a heavier snow by the day after Christmas. Mary returned her attention to Norah, who now had the farmer in her mouth. Deciding to let her daughter chew on the farmer, Mary thought about next year's Christmas. Norah would be old enough to marvel at the magic of the snow; Breindel would be as well. Maybe, just maybe, Mary would have to open her front yard to the idea of housing a few very short, lopsided snowmen.

**^m*m^**

"What kind of cake would you like?" Abigail asked as she perused the many choices of cake mix on the shelf.

"I don't know. How about chocolate with that chocolate fudge frosting?" Marshall pointed to a container on the shelf above the mixes.

"Hmm, a man who likes chocolate as much as I do. I knew you were the right one for me," she smiled, putting the items in the cart as they continued through the aisle.

"Marshall?" He turned towards the voice calling his name.

"Marla, hello." Marshall stopped pushing his grocery cart and greeted the woman, noting with sympathetic amusement the cast on her left arm.

"Hey. How have you been? How was your New Year?" she asked.

"It was wonderful, thank you." Marshall watched Marla's eyes roost on Abigail. "Uh, this is my-my sister. Sue. She's visiting from out of town." He turned to Abigail. "This is my friend, Marla." Abigail extended her hand.

"It's very nice to meet you, Marla."

"And you, Sue." Marshall smiled awkwardly as he shifted his gaze away from his wife. He searched the handful of people around them, surprised as a familiar-faced man approached. He carried a green, plastic basket full of groceries. The man smiled politely as he slipped his free arm around Marla's shoulders, but he refused to meet Marshall's eyes. "Oh, this is my fiancé, Kenny. This is Marshall and his sister, Sue." Kenny greeted the two with a nod.

"Uh, honey, we should be going," Kenny started. "We don't want to be late for dinner with your parents."

"Right, of course," she smiled. "It was wonderful to see you, again, Marshall. And, Sue, make Marshall take you to Johnny's Bar. They have the best barbeque wings you'll ever find." Abigail nodded and smiled, and watched as the two walked away. Marshall cleared his throat and pushed the cart around the corner and into the next aisle. Abigail watched him hesitate several times in reaching for the phone clasped to his belt.

"So, Kenny? He's the guy that Mary was seeing, right?" Marshall nodded, eyes focused on the end of the aisle. "And Marla is a…friend of yours?" Marshall nodded again. "What a small world," she mumbled. Marshall looked at her, the question on his face. "Well, that Kenny, right now, is engaged to a friend of yours, and not too long ago was dating _another_ friend of yours."

"Yeah, small world." Marshall turned away.

"Okay, I'm just going to come right out and say it." Abigail grabbed the handle of the cart, halting Marshall's forward motion. "I know what you do," she said quietly. "And I'm going to hazard a guess that Kenny being with a _friend _of yours after dating Mary kind of puts the two of you in a pickle." Marshall opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say. "Don't look so surprised, Sherlock," Abigail smiled softly. "Watson was a great deducer." She reached for Marshall's side and removed his phone from its holster. "You need to call her, Marshall. This could be a problem and she needs to know." He nodded and selected Mary's number.

"Hey," he said into the phone when he heard his partner's voice. "Where are you? We need to talk."

**^m*m^**

"Marshall?" Mary stepped out of her van, joining Marshall where he leaned against his pick-up truck, dusting his foot over the few inches of snow that covered the ground. She was weary of the deserted parking lot, remembering the conversation that took place the night of her nephew's birth. "What's going on? What's wrong?" The worry in her voice played just as heavily across her face, continuing to grow as he remained silent, deciding how he was going to relate the news. "Marshall?" She tugged lightly on the elbow of his coat. "You're scaring the hell out of me."

"Mary." He searched her eyes and took a deep breath. "I ran into Marla today at the grocery store."

"All right," she said slowly.

"She was with someone." She waited but Marshall did not elaborate.

"Marshall, I am not playing Twenty Questions with you."

"She was with Kenny." Mary shook her head, not understanding. "_Your_ Kenny," he clarified.

"What the fuck? I gave up time with my daughter for _this_?" She backed away.

"_This_ is kind of important, Mary," he said following her.

"It really isn't, Marshall. It's not a big deal," she said, turning towards her vehicle.

"Not a big deal?" he questioned. Marshall frowned and suddenly stopped his pursuit.

"_Did you get Marla home without incident this morning? No sudden latex allergies? No slip and fall in front of the nurses' station?" Mary shook her head and looked out the passenger window. "I'm surprised you didn't stay with her a little longer today. The last time she went to the hospital, you were at her apartment all day."_

_ "Her boyfriend picked her up." Marshall noted the irritation in her voice._

"Wait a minute. You knew." Mary closed her eyes and dropped her head, stopping an arm's length from the van. "Marla had that appendectomy…the boyfriend that picked her up from the hospit…You _knew. _You _knew_ she was seeing Kenny."

"It is not a big deal," she repeated over her shoulder. "I'm leaving now."

"You are not leaving." Marshall skipped ahead of Mary, placing his body between her and the driver's door. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't I tell you?" she mumbled. "I'm not supposed to…" Mary stopped.

"Not supposed to what?"

"Nothing."

"Mary, you could have called me."

"Whatever. I promised I wouldn't bother you anymore, so I didn't." Marshall shook his head and tried to relax the tension from his shoulders. "And, besides, what was I supposed to say, Marshall? 'Hey the guy I'm seeing is banging one of my witnesses, too.'"

"Well, yeah. Maybe not so…crudely, but, yeah." He took a step towards Mary, lightly placing his hands on her arms. "Mary, if Marla says _anything_ to Kenny about what you do…"

"Yeah, I know," she spat, violently shrugging Marshall away. "It puts you in the line of fire, too." She turned away and ran a hand through her hair. "I'm sorry. All right? The next time I date someone I'll take a mug shot," she started, her voice rising in volume. "And, I'll post in it the homes of all of our female witnesses! A big 'hands off' written in fat, bold letters across the top!"

"I'm not the one I was thinking about, Mary. I carry a gun, I can defend myself if need be." Marshall stepped closer, lowering his voice as he spoke over her shoulder. "I was thinking about Norah."

"I don't need you telling me how to protect my daughter," she yelled, whipping around to face him again.

"You should have told me. We could have looked at the situation together; avoided an argument and all of this shit." He motioned between them.

"This shit is why I didn't tell you. I'm so fucking stupid when it comes to my personal life; I don't need to be bleeding it into yours." She pulled her keys from her pockets. "I think we've already had this conversation, Marshall. I got your message loud and clear. Maybe you should follow your own instructions."

"Mary," Marshall sighed sadly. "Mary, I…" He watched her walk around him and get into her van; the tires spitting chunks of matted snow as she drove out of the parking lot. Marshall knew the next step was to inform Stan and to run a threat assessment on Kenny. Doing so would destroy the bit of civility he and Mary had been rebuilding, but he was willing to pay the price in order to keep his partner and her daughter safe.

**^m*m^**

"And I just cannot make Andersen understand that this is real life, not 'Law and Order'," Abigail explained as she stood at the kitchen counter, stirring the chocolate powder into the warm milk. "He can't walk into someone's apartment, gun drawn because he wants the adrenaline rush. Don't get me wrong, there are days when I want a little excitement, too, but that's what the firing range is for," she laughed.

"Maybe you should bench him for a while; let him see the drama unfold in paperwork across his desk," Marshall suggested. Abigail handed him a mug and sat next to him on the sofa.

"I wish I could but the captain thinks he just needs sometime to calm down, get over the excitement of a brand new job." She sighed. "I'm worried he's going to hurt someone." Marshall nodded his understanding. "How are things in your office? Is Mary talking to you yet?"

"No."

"Come on." Abigail drew her legs under her body. "It's been more than a month since you talked to Stan about Kenny. She can't ignore you forever." Marshall laughed softly.

"Are we thinking of the same Mary Shannon? She's as stubborn as she is good at being a U.S. marshal." Marshall took a drink from his mug. "No," he sighed. "She _can_ and she _will_ ignore me forever."

"You did the right thing, Marshall. Be happy that it turned out to be nothing."

"Yeah, nothing."

"Hey." Abigail gently tapped a fist on Marshall's shoulder. "Guess what tomorrow is."

"Um, Thursday?"

"Guess what else tomorrow is," she said, rolling her eyes.

"The twenty-first of February."

"Yes." She looked at him expectantly. He took a deep breath.

"Should that mean…something?"

"Silly, tomorrow is the one hundredth day that we've been married!" she giggled.

"One hundred days already?" Marshall asked as he took her mug and set both on the coffee table.

"Yes." She let Marshall pull her into his lap. "Do you still love me after all this time?" Marshall kissed her softly.

"Of course I still love you."

**^m*m^**

"Burning that midnight oil, Sweetheart?" Marshall looked up from his reports to see a smiling Delia standing in front of his desk. "It's nine-thirty, Marshall. Why don't you go home to that beautiful wife of yours? Say," she snickered, pulling her armful of folders closer to her chest. "Don't tell Mary, but I'll help you with your paperwork if you want to leave." Marshall laughed.

"Your offer is on the mum. I'm going to decline, though. Abigail is working late again tonight. She's been really…chipper the last few days." He smiled. "That usually means she's on the verge of breaking a case."

"What awful timing." Marshall raised an eyebrow at Delia's remark. "I mean good for her that she's going to close a case, but on you one-hundred day anniversary?" Delia jokingly scrunched her face. "That sucks."

"Am I the only won who didn't write this anniversary on my calendar?" Marshall asked as Delia made her way back to her desk.

"You didn't pay any attention to it? Marshall, that's horrible."

"I wasn't aware this was an occasion to celebrate." He laughed. "Now I know." Marshall's phone rang.

"Ooh, I bet that's a 'quitting time' call." Marshall blushed and shook his head, and reached for the phone. Delia shuffled through her folders as he greeted the caller.

"Uh, okay." Delia noted that Marshall's voice no longer held the light-heartedness. Curious, she turned back to him, suddenly struck by his ashen face. Marshall returned the phone to its cradle and slowly shook his head.

"Marshall?" Delia dropped her stack of folders onto her desk. She carefully approached the inspector's desk. "Honey, what's wrong?"

"Um, Abigail…She was, uh, was shot. They're taking her to the hospital."

"Oh, dear." Delia rounded the desk, wrapping her arm around Marshall's arm. "Come on; I'll take you."

a/n: Predictable? Yeah. But I figure better that than no one knowing what the heck is going on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_ "What the fuck is this?" Mary stepped in front of Marshall's desk and angrily tossed a file folder at him. He put up his hands, preventing it from hitting his face. The folder landed in his lap, opening and releasing its papers to the floor._

_ "Was that really necessary?" Marshall asked heatedly._

_ "Answer the goddamned question, Marshall. What the fuck is that?"_

_ "Mary…" He grabbed the folder, setting it on the desk and he stood. "You know very well what it is." Mary shook her head._

_ "Why?" she questioned. "Why the __**hell**__ would you run a threat assessment on Kenny?" She raised her hand, pointing a finger towards her chest. "And why didn't you tell me?"_

_ "It was the right thing to do, Mary."_

_ "Running it or not telling me?"_

_ "Both." Mary tilted her head slightly to the side and opened her mouth. "Save it, Mary. Had it been anyone else, you would have been the first to suggest it. You don't get to break the rules, especially when it involves your safety." He met her in front of the desk. "You and I…we should talk about this, Mare. About Kenny."_

_ "Talk about it? As in talk about my feelings?" she asked, arms crossed in front of her body._

_ "Yes," he answered. "And, don't try to tell me that Kenny didn't mean anything to you. I know you better than anyone; I can read you like a book."_

_ "Is that so?" Mary asked. Marshall nodded. "Are you trying to be my shrink, too?"_

_ "No, Mary. I-"_

"_What's going through my head now, Jackass?"_

"_I just don't think that you're willing to admit to yourself how harrowing this was," he said with a shrug. "You should talk about it."_

_ "Oh, grow a pair, Marshall. You're acting more like a thirteen-year-old girl than most thirteen-year-old girls!"_

_ "I'm just trying to help you, Mary." She took the two steps between them, staring into Marshall's blue eyes._

_ "Help me?" she spat. "How about you help me by shoving your give-a-damn up your ass?"_

_ "Mary," he started sternly._

_ "Go to hell." She shoved him back a step and left the office._

For thirty-nine days, Mary vehemently ignored Marshall; neither speaking to each other even where work was concerned. Now, after hearing of Abigail's shooting, Mary hurried across the parking lot of the hospital, desperate to find the man she so bitterly expelled from her life. Immediately upon entering the building, she stopped at the main desk, flashing her badge and demanding to know the location of her partner. The nurse pointed her towards the waiting room next to the reception area. Mary pushed through the doors, surprised by the number of police officers and detectives occupying the small room. She frowned as she spotted several familiar faces, but not the one she wanted to see.

"Mary?"

"Tim?" she called, turning towards the sound of the voice, somewhat muffled by the buzz of murmuring voices.

"Hey." Mary watched Tim emerge from the group.

"Tim, what the hell happened?"

"We're not sure. I _do_ know that both suspects were shot, DOA. Detective Andersen took one to the shoulder. He's in surgery but he's going to be fine. Abby…Abby's bad. I don't know the extent of her injuries but I saw her when the paramedics brought her in." He shook his head. "Andersen was the only witness and until he's out of the OR…" Mary swallowed hard; the sick feeling growing in her stomach.

"Have you seen…Do you know where Marshall is?"

"See those doors?" Tim pointed towards the back of the room. "Go left; there's a private waiting room at the end of the hallway." She nodded.

"Thanks, Tim." Pushing her way through the rest of the law enforcement personnel and the doors, Mary turned as instructed and jogged through the hallway. Stan and Delia stood outside of the room, both on their phones. As Mary approached, Stan pointed to the room, answering her question before she could ask. Marshall stood at the far end of the room, his back to her. She made her way across the room, feeling light-headed as her heart pounded in her chest.

"Marshall?" Mary lightly laid a hand on Marshall's shoulder. "What happened?"

"Abigail was shot," he said quietly, turning to face her; his expression emotionless.

"No kidding, Marshall. What _happened_?" Mary's hands settled on his arms, just below his shoulders. As she spoke, her eyes searched his body in an unconscious need to see that he was physically unharmed.

___"Marshall. Marshall," Mary called, rolling her partner onto his back. "Oh, my God." She lightly smacked the side of his face, hoping to rouse his attention. "Can you hear me?"_

_ "Ugh," he groaned. "I must have bumped my head." She did not like the way Marshall slowly drawled._

_ "Yeah, that's what happened," Mary said, draping her arm over his waist. "Then you fell on a bullet." She smoothed the hair from his face._

_ "Huh?"_

_ "Sheez, Doofus, you got shot."_

_ "Oh. Crap."_

"How is she?"

"She's not good. She was…one of her detectives…" he stammered. He dropped his head and rubbed his hand over his eyes. "She's in surgery right now."

"Jesus, Marshall, I'm so sorry. It's not fair for you to have to sit through something like this again." She felt the immediate tightening of his muscles beneath her hands.

"Something like this, _again_?" Marshall's eye narrowed as he lifted his head. "Are you comparing your shooting to my _wife's_? Because those are two completely different things, Mary." He pulled away just enough to slip Mary's hands from his arms.

"No, Marshall," she sighed. "That's not what I-"

"Why the hell did you even come?" he asked with a shake of his head. "Go home, Mary. I don't need you here." Mary watched as Marshall stormed across the room, slammed his palm against the door and disappeared into the hallway. Delia stood to the side of the door, witness to the conversation.

"Mary, he didn't mean it," Delia said, joining the blonde woman's side. Mary nodded slowly, eyes glued to the door.

"Yes, he did." She turned and looked at Delia, knowing Delia's pained face mirrored her own. "Abigail's in surgery?"

"Yeah. When we got here, the doctor said she took a bullet to the shoulder, three to the abdomen. He said he'd know more once they got her to the OR." Delia wiped the tears from her eyes.

"Okay…okay," Mary place a comforting hand on Delia's shoulder. "Call me when-when you know more." Delia nodded as Mary left the room, defeated and dejected.

**^m*m^**

Marshall stopped pacing the room and dropped heavily into the padded, blue chair. He leaned his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. His mind was overloaded, standing in a corner helplessly watching the thoughts running before him. He turned to his right when he felt a hand rest lightly on his arm.

"What did the nurse have to say?" Marshall took a deep breath and sat back in the chair, facing his chief.

"Um, she said...Abigail was shot five times; only two of the bullets exited. The doctors are trying to fish out all of the fragments from the other three, but they're having trouble controlling the bleeding as they go."

"Abigail needs you to hang in there, Marshall. It's been two and a half hours since they took her into the operating room and I know it seems like it's been forever…" Stan met Marshall's eyes. "You know these things take time. It's the only way to do it right."

"I know," Marshall nodded. "I'm trying." Delia sat to Marshall's left.

"We'll be here with you; for as long as it takes," Stan said, offering a small smile to Delia.

"That's right," she affirmed. "As long as you need us, you've got us." Delia gently wrapped her fingers around Marshall's hand, squeezing softly as she looked at Stan. Marshall nodded his thanks.

"I'm going to, uh, take a walk." He stood and left the waiting room.

"Oh, Chief," Delia sobbed.

"I know," he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I wish Mary was here, too."

**^m*m^**

Marshall walked out into the cold night air, happy to be relieved of the confines of the waiting room. He was growing restless waiting for Abigail's surgery to be finished. And, the longer he sat in that soured silence, the more he mulled over Mary's words. _"It's not fair for you to have to sit through something like this, again."_ Marshall rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He knew very well that Mary was not comparing the two instances. Yet, he accused her of just that, insecure with her comment mirroring the incongruous thoughts in his head. He didn't understand why he had been more distraught over Mary's shooting than he was over Abigail's. He loved both women, needed each one, but his wife's injuries seemed to take a very distant second to those of his partners.

The night of Mary's shooting was a night all too clearly remembered by Marshall. He remembered chasing the doctors and nurses down the hallway as they wheeled Mary's gurney through the corridor. He felt as though his legs were made of lead and would not allow him to catch up to his partner before she was in the operating room and out of his reach. He remembered placing the kiss on her temple, needing the warmth of her skin to melt away the fear settling over his shoulders. But, her skin was not warm. It was cold, as though her life had already been drained.

"_She wasn't breathing, Stan."_

Marshall remembered the nurse stopping him at the emergency entrance. He turned back into the hallway with a defeated sigh and leaned his back against the wall. The chill of Mary's skin traveled over his lips, into his mouth, across his skin, slowly sinking his hope into a frozen state of death. His mind tried to be comforting; tried to remind him that he had the chance to see her, to tell her that he was by her side. To tell her, in their wordless way, 'good-bye' and 'I love you.'

"I didn't get to see her," Marshall said to himself. He stopped walking and collapsed on the concrete beneath his feet. A sickening understanding washed over him. He saw Mary after she had been shot; the reality of her situation was a clear, solid image, burned into his mind. He did not get to see Abigail, having arrived at the hospital just after she was taken to the operating room. Abigail's reality was still a fuzzy, imagined picture; still, to his eyes, unconfirmed by the tangible. Forever now a situation without chance of closure.

"Marshall?" Stan knelt next to his inspector, draping an arm over the younger man's shoulders. "You should come back inside, Marshall. It's too cold out here."

"Stan, I didn't get to tell her," he choked through the tears.

"Tell her what?" he asked softly.

"Good-bye."

**^m*m^**

"Mary?" Jinx rose from the couch and met her distraught daughter at the door.

"Where is everybody? Where's Norah?"

"I sent Brandi and Peter to bed. Norah and Breindel are in the room with them." She took Mary's hand. "How's Marshall? How-how's Abigail?" Mary shook her head, numbly moving towards the couch.

"Abigail's not good, Mom. I don't, uh, I don't know anything. No one seems to have details." She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes. "Marshall's…I can't help him," she cried.

"Oh, Honey." Jinx brushed Mary's hair over her shoulder. "I know that it doesn't seem like much, Mary, but what he needs right now is a friend. Trust me, it will help him more than you realize."

"No, Mom. He doesn't…he doesn't want me around anymore." Jinx wrapped her arm around Mary, hugging her tightly.

**^m*m^**

"Mr. Mann?" Marshall stood as the doctor entered the room, anxious to hear something after the nurse spoke to him two hours earlier. Stan and Delia followed, standing behind the inspector. "I'm sorry, Mr. Mann," the doctor said with a soft shake of his head. "There was too much damage; we weren't able to keep up with the blood loss." Marshall shook his head, tears stinging his eyes.

"No, that's not…that's not possible." Delia, fearing Marshall had no strength to stand on his own, took his arm, gently guiding him to a chair.

"Let's sit down," she said softly.

"Where's Mary?" he asked as he looked around with desperate pleading.

"Don't worry about that right now," she answered, her hand rubbing his arm. "Let's just take a moment."

"Where's Mary?" he repeated, meeting her eyes. "Did she-she leave? Leave me?" His anger over the absence of his partner was obvious in his words.

"Marshall, not now," Delia said firmly. Marshall's head dropped and Delia wrapped her arms around him, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. She looked up at Stan, who nodded at her silent question. As he left the room, he removed his phone from his pocket and dialed Mary's number.

**^m*m^**

Mary slowly woke from a very restless slumber to the loud ringing of her cell phone. She reached across the edge of the bed to the nightstand, grabbing the phone. As she rolled onto her back, she checked the caller ID, immediately sitting up and frantically answering the call.

"Stan?" She ran a hand through her hair. "Stan, what's going on?"

_"Mary, uh, well, there's no easy way to say this."_ The bile started to rise in her throat.

"No, Stan, no." Mary's hand rose to her mouth, covering the 'o' of disbelief forming her lips.

_"I know things have been…Well, things have not been ideal and…um…" _Stan sighed. _"He's asking for you, Mary. He needs you."_

"Stan, I'm not welcome." She tightly closed her eyes, pushing the tears from her eyes.

_"Look," _Stan said firmly. _I've been your boss for almost ten years. I've seen the two of you bicker, I've seen the two of you fight, with words and fists. In this last year, I've seen the worst of your relationship. But, I've also seen you defend each other, fight for each other, cover each other's asses. I watched the two of you become the best of…well, I don't know that 'friends' does it justice." _He took a deep breath_. "No one knows the two of you better than the two of you." _He was silent for a moment, giving his words time to sink in_. "Marshall's hurting right now and he needs __**you**__. He needs __**Mary**__. I trust you to make the right decision."_ Stan ended the call, leaving Mary staring at her phone. She scrambled out of the covers on her bed.

"Mom?" she called into the living room as she opened the door to Brandi's room. "Squish, wake up." Mary turned on the light, eliciting a groan from the sleeping couple.

"Mary, what the hell?" Brandi sat up and gasped at the look on Mary's face. "Mary?" she asked, concern seeping through her words.

"Squish, I need your help," she said absently as Jinx entered the room. Peter left the bed, motioning for Brandi to do the same.

"Mary, did…" Mary nodded. "We'll take Norah to our house so you can bring Marshall over." He moved to Mary's side. "Are you all right?"

"It's Marshall that's not all right," she answered quietly. "Mom?" Jinx nodded, knowing Mary's question.

"I'll wait and whatever you need to get Marshall settled in, I'll get it for you." Mary nodded and wondered into the hallway. Looking down at her clothing, a white t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants, she decided there was no time to change. Grabbing her keys and her coat, Mary slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and left the house.

**^m*m^**

"Marshall?" Mary poked her head through the doorway, finding her partner sitting in a chair near the door, staring at the dark grey carpeting. His elbows rested on his knees; his hands folded, thumbs supporting his chin. "Oh, Marshall." His eyes moved from the floor to her, the rest of his body still; the look on his face nearly stopping Mary in her tracks. He was rightfully despondent and angry, but something in that anger seemed unreadable, unfamiliar. His eyes followed her as she knelt on the floor in front of him. "Marshall." She put her hands on his knees. "I'm taking you home with me, all right? You shouldn't be alo-" Mary swallowed her words. "You should have company." He remained quiet and motionless. She tried to ignore his stare, oddly unnerved by it. "I am so sorry, Marshall," she whispered. "I am so sorry." Tenderly, she placed her hands over his clenched fists and drew them from his face. She smoothed the hair from his forehead and let her hand rest on his cheek. "Marshall, I'm here, okay? Whatever you need, I'm here." Mary felt a few tears slip down her cheeks as she stood and slowly pulled Marshall to his feet. She took a step backwards, gently urging him to follow, but he remained in place. Mary had only a moment, brows knit in question, before Marshall pulled her roughly against his body.

"You'd throw that in my face? Now, of all times?" he asked quietly as his hands tightened around her upper arms.

"What are you talking abo—Marshall, you're hurting me." As she tried to maneuver to loosen his grip, Marshall pulled her closer, securing her hands between his elbows and his sides.

"Why did you come here, Mary?"

"Marshall," she scolded, letting her anger gingerly seep through her words. "You're my best friend. Why wouldn't I come to be with you and-and…I mean…at a time like this?"

"My best friend," he sneered. "You pushed me _away_, Mary; pushed me out of _every_ part of your life. And, now you're here to what? Catch me? To give me the friendship you think I took away from you?" Marshall narrowed his eyes. "To answer my four-in-the-morning call when I asked you not to call me?"

"Marshall, no. That's not wh—"

"Are you getting even with me? Is this opportunity for you?" he laughed. "Good ol' Mary Shannon always finds a way to extract her revenge." Mary opened her mouth to argue, but, under the glare of Marshall's angry, blue eyes, she was unable to find the words. Her tears were building, overpowering the anger and threatening to spill from her lashes. Marshall leaned over her shoulder, his lips brushing her ear as his words hit their target and shattered the dam. "I do not need you to catch me, Mary," he whispered hoarsely. "I do not need you to answer my call. And I _certainly_ do not need your friendship." Marshall roughly tossed her aside and pushed through the door.

**^m*m^**

Jinx stood in front of the living room window, anxiously waiting for Mary's return. She was nervous, alternating between tapping her fingers on the windowsill and pacing the length of the glass. She had always liked Marshall. He was a nice young man and clearly an important part of her daughter's life. Jinx knew she would never understand the depths of that importance, but that did not bother her. It only mattered that Mary had someone as such in her life. Jinx took a deep breath as the lights from Mary's mini-van swept across the yard. She ran to the front entrance, opening the door and stepping into the cold darkness.

"Mary?" she questioned as she wrapped her robe tightly around her body. Mary stumbled along the sidewalk, reaching for her mother as she neared. "Mary? Where's Marshall?" she asked, looking back at the van as she steadied an arm around Mary's waist.

"I don't know," she replied with a hoarse voice. "I don't know." Jinx carefully led Mary into the light of the house.

"Honey," Jinx soothed. Mary's eyes were red, her cheeks tear-stained. "Come here, sit down."

"No. Mom, this was supposed to be…It wasn't supposed to happen like this!" Jinx nodded and remained silent, wringing her hands as she let her daughter spit her frustration. Mary dropped her keys on the floor as she walked through the living room. Her coat slid off her shoulders, joining the keys. "I couldn't…he didn't…" Mary turned to Jinx. "This was supposed to be his fairy tale, Mom. This was supposed to be-he was happy. Why? Why can't he be happy?" she cried, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach. Jinx joined her side. "I'm going to be sick," she mumbled.

"Mary, sit down," Jinx ordered, guiding her towards the couch. "You need to take a deep breath, Honey. Calm yourself down."

"I-I can't." Mary sucked in a ragged breath and jumped from the couch. She ran down the hallway and into her room. _'Fuck the fairy tale ending,'_ she thought. _'There has never been and will never be such a thing.'_ Mary collapsed onto the bed, pulling her pillow close to her body. She buried her face in its softness and cried.

And cried and cried and cried.

**^m*m^**

Marshall closed the door quietly behind him, walking aimlessly into the kitchen. His hand hovered over the countertop, releasing the keys from his fingers. They hit the surface with a muted jingle and slid over the edge. Marshall walked away; their impact on the floor unimportant. He heard a familiar gallop emerge from the darkness as Oscar came to greet him. The canine circled Marshall, licking his hands and biting at his shirt cuffs.

_"Let's move in together," Marshall suggested. "You, me and Oscar."_

_ "Okay," Abigail answered easily. "I'll give notice tomorrow."_

_ "I'm serious," he said, concerned that her quick answer meant she thought he was joking._

_ "So am I," she assured._

_ "It's not…too soon?"_

_ "Marshall, he's a dog," she informed him. "He'll adjust."_

Marshall did not stop his journey through the house. Once inside the bedroom, Oscar ran ahead and jumped up on the bed. Marshall followed, gingerly sitting on the comforter.

"Oscar," he whispered as he ran his hand over Oscar's back. "Oscar." Marshall listed to the side, falling onto the pillows as he cried.

**^m*m^**

Mary sent flowers; she didn't know what else to do.

Mary was no longer welcome in Marshall's life; he'd made that very clear at the hospital. She, however, could not ignore what happened; could not pretend that Marshall's life had not come to a deafening halt. Her cell phone had become a part of her being, never more than a hand away from her body, even when she was in the shower. Marshall, she was sure, would call and she needed to be quick in answering. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around him, hold him and comfort him the way he'd done for her countless times over the last decade.

But, after four days, Marshall still had not called. Sick to her stomach with worry, Mary stopped circling her living room and, giving in, called. She hoped Marshall, not one of his or Abigail's family members, answered the phone. Before she heard a ring, tears stung Mary's eyes.

"Son of a bitch!" she yelled, throwing the phone across the room.

"Whoa." Mary ran her hands through her hair and turned towards Peter.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. Peter nodded and crossed the room, retrieving the phone.

"You're lucky it's not broken." He set it gently on the coffee table. "He's not answering?" Mary shook her head.

"He blocked my number," she said, sitting on the couch. "I know that he's going through…such a rough time right now, but…" Peter sat next to her. "He's helped me with so much."

"_I feel like I'm…the keeper… of this…" Marshall's eyes stopped roaming and settled on Mary's eyes. "Exotic animal. And, I spend my time either protecting you from the world, or the world from you. And, it's just…it's just a lot of responsibility." Mary gently nodded her understanding as her eyes dropped to the bullet wound in his chest._

"_I'm sorry," she said quietly. "But, that's your job," Mary shrugged. She lifted her hand reaching around his neck as she stretched to place a soft kiss on his cheek. A quiet, content sigh escaped Marshall's lips. Mary's hand remained on his neck, softly keeping his attention on her as she pulled back. "And you cannot quit." She whispered her seriousness as she held his gaze._

'_Okay." His answered held no fight, no hesitation. No regrets._

"He took care of me after my kidnapping, after I was shot…Protected me while I was pregnant with Norah. He's always tried to help me with my 'daddy issues'. Hell, he even sat at the funeral home with me and helped me decide what to do with James' body." Mary sniffed. "He was there for me when James died. Marshall came to the hospital, stayed with me for most of the night." She looked down at her fidgeting hands. "He was supposed to be at his engagement party. _His_ engagement party and he was at the hospital with me. I should be doing this for him. I should be taking care of him, making him dinner and-and helping with Abigail's funeral and…holding him when he cries."

"He'll come around, Mary. This is just one of those things…" Peter put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Sometimes even the best of our friends need to be kept at arm's length. Even the ones closer to our hearts than family." Mary gave him a questioning look. "I would imagine no one knows Mary and Marshall better than Mary and Marshall." Peter's words, echoing those of Stan's, brought a fresh well of tears to her eyes. "He's going to need some time, Mary, but, when he's ready, he'll reach out." Mary nodded and turned her eyes to the phone on the table. "He'll reach out to you."

a/n I like Abigail, I do. But, for the sake of this story…It had to happen. I promise that things between Mary and Marshall will turn around soon. When? Don't know for sure…But soon.


	7. Chapter 7

a/n: I had this chapter ready to go. Then, I gave it a big WTF and rewrote it, twice. I don't know. I think it went a little better the third time around, we'll see. This one is goes out to tilleygirl, who read my mind about Pa Mann.

**Chapter Seven**

_ "Marshall," Seth started slowly. "I want you to take a couple of days to rethink this."_

_ "I'm not rethinking anything, Dad," Marshall said, pushing past his father. He sank into the couch. "It's my decision, not yours."_

_ "I know that, Son." Seth crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You have always been one to make good decisions, Marshall, but this is one of those times…You really should just listen to what everyone is telling you and take the two weeks off." Marshall shook his head. "Marshall."_

_ "Dad." The two stared at each other in silence for a long moment before Marshall continued. "I…appreciate everyone's concern, but I need to do this." Marshall ran a hand through his hair. "I can't spend all day in this empty house," he said, motioning through the air around him._

_ "When your mother passed…" Seth looked to the floor, the memory replaying in his mind. "It was so easy to go back to work, to bury myself in anything I could find. The more I did, the less time I had to think about her. But," he said, returning his eyes to his son, "I just made things worse." Seth moved to the couch, sitting next to Marshall. He leaned his elbows on his legs, hands folded in front of him._

"_Dad, why didn't you say anything?"_

"_You had your own grieving to do and I didn't want to burden you or your brothers."_

_ "Dad," Marshall scolded in a whisper._

_ "I couldn't function after a while. The stress from Ma's death continued to build until it had taken over the rest of my life. I wasn't paying attention to work, I was becoming a safety hazard," he laughed gently. "I was benched, sent to see the department shrink." Seth looked to his son. "I didn't give myself time to be angry or sad. I didn't consider how much my life had changed. The smallest of things weighed on my mind." He sat back into the couch. "Do you remember…why you and your brothers used to pick on me?" he asked with a smile._

"_Yeah," Marshall smiled. "Ma picked out your ties."_

"_Yeah. Every morning, Ma left a tie on the dresser and that's the one I wore to work." Seth's smile sobered. "I would stand at the front door, Ma would straighten my tie. Then, she would give me a kiss and I'd start my day." Marshall watched the tears form in his father's eyes and slip over his cheeks. "The first day I returned to work, I didn't wear a tie," he shrugged. "In fact, I didn't wear a tie for the first three weeks. It never occurred to me to open the closet and grab one. Then, I started feeling guilty about forgetting something that was so important and part of my everyday life for…" Seth sighed with a small smile. "For years and years." He reached over and laid a hand on Marshall's knee. "You should take some time; go through the steps, Marshall. Understand what life is going to be for you now. It isn't going to change what's happened, but it is going to keep you from losing your mind."_

"_Dad, I'm not going to promise anything," Marshall said._

"_That's fine, just consider it." Marshall nodded. "So, I leave tomorrow morning. Are you going to call me if you need to talk?"_

"_Yeah," he answered. Seth studied his son for a moment._

"_And what about Mary?"_

Marshall returned to work three days after Abigail's funeral, despite strong objections from his father and from Stan. He was not inclined to let anyone make the decision for him. He needed something to do besides dwell on the silence of his house. Marshall sat quietly behind his desk, his eyes absently staring at the words on the paper, his mind having no part in interpreting their meaning. With a sigh, he scribbled his name along the line at the bottom of the page and stuffed it into the appropriate folder. As he pushed the folder to the left side of his desk, he looked across the room to his partner.

"_What about her?" Marshall's face clouded._

"_Are you going to talk to her or are you going to continue to ignore her?" Marshall showed his surprise. "I'm your father, Marshall. You can't hide everything from me. Well, that and I may have had a talk with Stan after the funeral," he confessed. Marshall rolled his eyes. "I was surprised that Mary didn't attend," he continued, defending his actions with a shrug. "Stan said she volunteered to stay at the office, to watch things so everyone else could be there for you." Seth noticed Marshall's uneasiness. "Stan had it covered, had it cleared for everyone, Mary included, to be out of the office."_

"_Dad-"_

"_He __**told**__ her so, yet, she insisted on staying behind." Marshall looked away. "Listen…I know that you and Mary are exceptional marshals and that you have a fiercely forged partnership. I know that neither one of you would ever intentionally let something personal interfere with your jobs. But, whatever is separating you right now…It's only going to cause your lives to be stressed and your work to suffer and __**that**__…that becomes dangerous." Marshall hung his head, looking at the floor._

"_I said…some things that I should not have said," he admitted. "My words hurt Mary…deeply."_

"_Did she tell you that?"_

"_No. I just…I know Mary." Marshall sighed. "I can't take back what I said, and I don't know if our friendship can recover. I don't know if it exists anymore."_

In the week and a half since Marshall's return, Mary had been disturbingly quiet. He heard her speak a couple of times to Delia, three times to Stan. But, not once to him. Marshall harbored no blame towards Mary for her reticence. She, once again, was doing what he asked of her; what he so rudely told her he wanted. The chirp of Mary's cell phone brought Marshall out of his musings. He watched her fish through her bag, retrieving the phone.

"Hey, Squish…They're done?" A small, warm smile spread across Mary's lips. "I'm sure they look great, Brandi. I saw the bouquet you made for Mom. It was pretty." She laughed softly. Mary's words piqued Marshall's curiosity. He couldn't remember a time when he heard her say the word 'pretty' and not follow it with something along the lines of 'stupid' or 'pathetic' or 'shitty'. "No, that does _not_ mean you can bring flowers to _my _house," she said, feigning a strict voice. "That's all right; you don't need to deliver them. I can be there in fifteen minutes." Mary closed the folder on her desk and shoved it into the top drawer of her filing cabinet. "Yeah, I can leave," she scoffed. "It's lunch time anyway. Thanks, Squish. Bye." She tucked the phone into the bag and grabbed her coat. She left the WitSec office, no words to anyone as she slipped through the glass doors. Marshall frowned, wondering why Mary was picking up a bouquet of flowers. He badly wanted to razz her for the very un-Mary-like behavior.

"Hey, Marshall." He looked across the room to see Delia approaching his desk. "I'm headed out to grab lunch. Do you want anything?"

"Uh, no, thank you." He stood. "Abigail's stone was supposed to be set this morning. I wanted to go see it." Delia nodded and smiled.

"Say the word, Marshall," she said, leaning across his desk and gently squeezing his hand. "You have my shoulder whenever you need it." Marshall nodded his thanks and watched Delia leave.

**^m*m^**

Mary walked through the cemetery, carefully making her way to a freshly formed mound of dirt. Light wisps of cold wind, a stark contrast to the warmth of the sun, whipped around giving an eerie life to the surreal veracity of the burial site. Abigail's grave sat in the shade of an old, very thick oak tree planted a good thirty feet to the left. Dozens of bouquets and several potted plants surround the rise. A simple, yet beautiful, stone marked the head of the grave. The dark brown, granite stone was peppered with small patches of black and silver. "Abigail Lynne Mann" was engraved in large letters across the middle; "beloved daughter, sister and wife" along the top in letters much smaller. Mary sighed quietly and sat in the grass to the side of the grave.

"I sure hope you like flowers," Mary joked lightly. "My sister put these together for you." She looked at the small bouquet of pink, purple and white statice flowers. "I think Brandi may have found a job that she's good at." Mary set the flowers next to the others. "I'm-I'm sorry that I wasn't at the funeral. I should have been. But, things with Marshall and I…It's been rough, I guess and…I just didn't think Marshall needed to be reminded of that while he was going through…this. Listen, um…I've known Marshall for a long time…and I have never seen him as happy as he's been these last two years." She wiped a couple of tears from her cheek and laughed softly. "And it's your fault, Abigail. You know that, right? Marshall deserves to have someone love him and to have someone to love in return. I wish this could have lasted longer," she sighed. "I don't know that I agree with the whole 'better to have loved and lost' bull, but, I am grateful that Marshall had the chance to experience that love. And, I just wanted to say…thank you." Mary stood. "Okay, well, I've never been good at this kind of thing, so I'm going to go before it gets…It's _already_ weird, isn't it?" she asked with a smile. "Yeah. Thank you, Abigail." Mary pulled her coat a little tighter around her body, taking a couple of steps backwards before turning towards her mini-van.

Marshall leaned back against the oak tree, tipping back his head until it made contact with the bark. He listened as his partner's footsteps faded. Slipping around the tree, he watched Mary's mini-van pull away from the curb, hoping she wouldn't notice his truck parked around the corner of the block. When her vehicle of out of sight, Marshall moved towards his wife's grave.

"Hey, Abs," he said as he crouched to the ground. His fingers traced the stems of the bouquet Mary set on the dirt. "I never thought I would see the day Mary voluntarily brought someone flowers," he stated with amusement. "Oscar's doing better. His eating habits are almost back to normal and his energy level has picked up some this last week. He is still messing in the house, though. I've tried to go home during lunch to let him outside, but that doesn't seem to be helping. I know, I know," he started with a shake of his head and a small smile. "I have to give him a little time. I will. I know that he needs his time to adjust, too." Marshall's eyes drifted over the stone, taking in every sharp corner, every rounded engraving until the tears in his eyes blurred his vision. "I miss you," he whispered.

**^m*m^**

"Mary, Marshall." Stan motioned the two towards his office. "Have a seat," he said, perching on the corner of his desk. He studied his inspectors as they sat. Neither looked at him or at each other; they simply stared at the floor. "I hope the two of you know that…well, you are both more than my inspectors. You're like…like my children," he smiled warmly. "My very rebellious, strong-willed children," he poked, eliciting looks from both marshals. "I care about both of you. Whatever is going on in your lives, you know that my door is always open to you, any time of the day." Mary and Marshall nodded slightly and returned their gazes back to the floor. Stan rolled his eyes. "Okay, let's try this a different way. Yesterday…I will admit that it was rather impressive to see you get Charles Zachary and his family through the WitSec rules and regs sans shared vocabulary. And, I'm sure getting the family settled into their apartment came with that same…tranquility. But, if good old fashioned, out loud verbal communication doesn't start, and start _now, _I'm going to bench both of you."

"What?" Mary asked angrily. "Stan, what the hell?"

"You haven't had a normal 'Mary and Marshall' conversation with each other since the middle of October. That was four months ago! And, honestly, it's been building for a lot longer than that. So, what the hell?" he repeated. "How about two marshals that can't utter a single word to each other constitutes a break-down of communication and a compromise of witness security." Mary and Marshall looked at each other.

"Marshall."

"Mary."

"Happy?" she asked, turning back to Stan.

"The two of you are going to turn my hair grey," he said with a shake of his head. Stan picked up two file folders from his desk, handing one to Marshall. "See what I mean? I set up the bald joke and you let it pass. The thrill is gone," he mumbled, opening the second folder. "Donald Fredrickson, aka Douglas Fray," Stan started.

"Oh," Mary smiled, sitting up straighter in her chair. "Douggie."

"He is scheduled to testify in the Pfaff trial Thursday morning at nine. The trial is in Amarillo and the DOJ would like…Douggie…in town tomorrow night to prepare. You'll be leaving tomorrow around noon." Stan looked up from the folder and eyed both inspectors. "I don't want to tie you to your desks, but I don't want to have this conversation again." With a short wave of his hand, he dismissed the two. "Whatever this is, can it and do so quickly." Marshall followed Mary from the room, his frown thick as he studied the file in his hands.

"When the hell did he start thinking that we can't do our jobs?" Mary asked as they neared their desks.

"I don't know," Marshall shrugged.

"Ass print," she snipped. Marshall looked at Mary, a questioning expression across his face. "Not you," she clarified. "Stanley."

"Ah." Marshall took a seat to the side of Mary's desk and handed her the folder. He watched as she leaned an elbow on the desk, forehead resting between her thumb and forefinger, and read the file. She looked tired. Pale and troubled. And, Marshall knew he was the cause. If he hadn't before today, hearing Mary's words at the cemetery made Marshall feel like an ass. Mary stepped back, put her partner first, wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. But, instead of thanking her for the selfless gesture, he punished her. Mary dropped every bit of the tension and bitterness that had worked their ways between them to be by his side. She was there, kneeing in front of him, taking his hands, offering everything she could in order to help him through the death of his wife. And, he punished her for that, too. He told her that he didn't need her, didn't want her around. Marshall knew what those words meant; he knew how Mary had heard them: _"I don't love you."_

"Here." Mary tossed the file in Marshall's direction. "I have to call Jinx, see if she can watch Norah tomorrow so we can go with this douche bag." She dug in her bag for her phone and quickly made her way into the conference room. Marshall watched through the glass wall seeing her shoulders slump forward as she sat at the table. He was touched by Mary's words to Abigail. They solidified everything Marshall meant to Mary; everything she meant to him. It was time, he decided. Time to talk to Mary, time to apologize.

Time to hit the floor and beg for her forgiveness.

**^m*m^**

Marshall crossed his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He had never appreciated the way Doug talked to Mary. He was constantly baiting her and his words always turned to crude suggestion. Mary, capable of handling the situation, handed Doug his balls on a regular basis, a proud smile permanently on her lips. Because of this, Marshall felt better about Mary being in Doug's presence; though it was a marginal better. He and Stan had an agreement, unknown to Mary, that she was never to visit this witness without Marshall's attendance. Marshall couldn't justify his thoughts about Doug, Mary had past witnesses who were far worse. There was something that didn't sit right and that was enough for Stan to keep the agreement.

"I don't know about this, Mary." Doug threw two pairs of socks into his duffle bag. "Amarillo's a long ways away." He looked at Marshall. "And, only you and Bean Pole protecting me? Yeah, not feeling all that comfortable."

"Well, you should be. Marshall and I are good at our jobs. Pack a little faster," Mary spat. "I don't understand why you didn't do this last night like I told you to."

"I was drunk," he said with a smile. "It's hard to match socks when you're under the influence." Mary rolled her eyes and moved to Marshall's side. He looked down at his partner as she settled her back against the wall. She was close, her arm inches from his; her eyes focused on the floor. Mary would never admit to it, but Marshall knew the meaning behind her proximity. Marshall flicked his eyes to Doug, the cause of Mary's uneasiness. "Besides, it's two changes of clothing. Well, really only one…for court. I sleep naked so there's no need to pack pajamas," he clarified.

"Oh, I'm going to be sick." She pushed herself away from the wall and looked at Marshall. "I'll be out in the hallway." He watched her brush past him and through the bedroom door.

"Mary's a little cranky today," Doug observed. He sent Marshall a suspicious look. "Must not have gotten laid last night?" Marshall feigned a grin.

"Funny. Get moving." Doug smiled and returned to his duffle bag. With the last of the clothing stuffed inside, neither his dress pants or button-down shirt folded, he settled the strap over his shoulder and left the bedroom. Marshall followed closely, locking the apartment door as they moved into the hallway. He pulled the bag from Doug's shoulder and handed it to Mary, then took Doug's arm, roughly leading him through the hallway and out of the building.

"What if I've changed my mind?" Doug asked as they entered the late morning sunshine. "What if I don't want to testify anymore?"

"Then Marshall and I wash our hands of you," Mary answered. "And, by supper time, you'll be wearing a bullet hole on your forehead," she smiled. Marshall opened the back door, allowing Mary to chuck the duffle bag through the opening. He motioned Doug inside.

"Geez, is she always this crabby?" he asked as Mary rounded the front of the vehicle.

_"A witness going undercover is a non-starter," Marshall said, holding up a hand to thwart any argument. "Unless his inspectors are there to ensure his safety." The FBI agent titled his head to the side in an air of arrogance._

_ "And, when was the last time you worked undercover?" he asked._

_ "We're __**always**__ undercover," Mary scoffed. "That's the job. Seriously," she started, looking between the two men, "in real life, I'm a __**total**__ bitch." She couldn't stop the laughter that followed that statement; neither could Marshall._

"You have no idea," Marshall smirked. He closed the door and moved into the driver's seat. Turning slightly as he fastened the seat belt, he caught Mary's stare.

"I heard that," she said.

"You were supposed to," he teased.

"I hope you're in the mood to drive, Buddy. I decided to share my half of the journey with you."

"What? I'm not driving for four and a half hours," he told her firmly.

"Yeah, you are. Happy Early Birthday, Partner." She faked a wide smile and turned her attention to the passenger side window. "Ass." Marshall shook his head and started the SUV.

**^m*m^**

_ Doug lowered the window and leaned his head and arms in the opening. The strong smell of the gasoline flowed past his face as he watched Mary walk into the small convenience store._

_ "Hmm. Look at that." Marshall didn't have to look, he knew to whom Doug was referring. "That partner of yours is one tough nut." He turned towards Marshall. "How do you suppose I can crack her?" Marshall bit the inside of his cheek as he returned the pump to its resting place._

_ "You know, every time you say something like that you're one step closer to having your life end in a very not pleasant way."_

_ "I know. But, watching Mary take me out…heaven," he smiled._

_ "I wasn't talking about Mary." Marshall offered a smile of his own._

_ "Interesting. Jealousy. You've cracked her, huh? Lucky bastard," he muttered._

_ "Who's a bastard?" Mary asked as she approached the SUV. Marshall shook his head. "Secrets are no fun, Marshall." He held up his hand in offering, dangling the keys from his index finger. "Yeah, right," she laughed, heading to the passenger side of the vehicle. "Don't make fun of me next time."_

Marshall stood at the end of the bed, eyes trained on his partner in the adjoining room. He unpacked his clothing as he watched Mary. He could see the tension in her shoulders, brought out by the manner in which she planted her hands on her hips. The long drive and constant proximity to Doug had worn her resolve and sitting in the room as the DOJ prepared him for trial broke the last of her patience. The marshals from the Boise WitSec office seemed unaffected by Doug's blatant indifference to the matter at hand. Even at Mary's strongly suggested use of violence towards Doug, the marshals took no notice. Marshall managed to calm her nerves over a late dinner of pizza, but as they prepared to turn in for the night, Doug, again, sought to boil Mary's blood.

"So, I can still run my drugs once I've testified, right?" Mary gave Doug an incredulous look as he continued to rifle through his duffle bag.

"Did I hear him right?" Mary called over her shoulder.

"Did you hear him ask if he can still run his drugs?" Marshall returned.

"I did."

"Yep," he sighed. "You heard him right." He dropped his clean dress shirt on the bed and headed to Mary's side.

"What part about getting protection as long as you maintain a _crime-free_ life did you not understand?" Mary spat.

"Mary, it's just a little something-something on the side." Doug stood and raised an eyebrow. "Ever been high, Mary? Ever been in the throes of ecstasy while you've been high?"

"That's enough," Marshall warned as he took a step forward.

"You don't know what you're missing," he continued, staring at Mary. "I still don't see the crime."

"Your drug run killed thirteen people!" Mary yelled, taking a defensive stance.

"Yeah…so?" he taunted, sitting on the bed.

"Christ, how do you sleep at night?" she scoffed, her disgust twisting her features.

"Well, usually on my right side, but, if you can get rid of Bean Pole over here, you're more than welcome to see for yourself." Doug patted the bed. Marshall moved forward and grabbed Doug by the collar of his t-shirt, lifting his from the edge of the mattress and roughly pushing him into the wall.

"I said, 'enough'," Marshall bit.

"Okay, okay," Doug said; hands held in the air in forfeit. "I'll stop pissing on your tree." Marshall released his shirt and stormed out of the room; Mary watching his exit. She stood and sent a stern glare in Doug's direction as he leaned comfortably against the wall.

"You," she pointed, "better not move a muscle." Mary stepped into the adjoining room, finding her partner staring out the window into the darkness. "Marshall?" she called quietly as she approached him. "What was that?" He turned to look at her, the dim glow from the lamp on the nightstand sharply accentuating his features.

"I'm tired of his mouth," he answered. "He doesn't need to talk to you that way." Marshall met Mary in the middle of the room.

"You had a long drive," she said. "You should rest. I can take the first watch."

"No," Marshall said, shaking his head. "There are six DOJ agents around us. Two in the room to our left, two to the right. And, two in the hallway. We don't have to sleep in shifts. Let's go lights out. You can change. I'll come back when you're done." He walked past her.

"Marshall," Mary said, reaching for his arm. He turned, surprising Mary with his quickness, and placed his hand on her arms.

"I'm not leaving you alone in that room with him," he said quietly.

"Marshall, I can handle-" Marshall stepped closer, peering down into her green eyes.

"I am _not_ …leaving you alone… in that room…with _him_," he repeated firmly. Marshall felt her body rise as she took a slow, deep breath.

"Okay," she resigned, offering a very Mary-esque roll of her eyes.

"Change. Knock on the door when you're finished." He walked to the shared door, firmly closing it behind him.

"Aw, no more Mary?" Doug asked as he reclaimed his position on the edge of the bed. Marshall glared at him. "Look, I'm not one to step into something that's already brewing. So if there's nothing going on between you two…" he trailed off, hopeful. "Dude, man to man, let me know so I can have a crack at her." Marshall took a breath, his face impartial to his thoughts.

"I don't _have to_ keep you alive," he said evenly.

"Yeah, you do," Doug argued. "That's your job." Marshall shook his head slowly.

"No. I really just have to pretend to try." He took a seat at the small breakfast table, placing his firearm on the middle of the surface. He leaned back in the chair, arm resting on the table's edge. "As long as it looks good, I stay employed. And, no one will have to look at your sorry face again." Marshall did not move. He did not smile. He did not blink. He simply stared, unaltered by the words he spoke. Doug took a deep breath as he studied his protector, certain that Marshall's threat was really more of a promise. He huffed a small laugh and maneuvered under the covers of the bed.

"Someday, Marshall, you and your blonde beauty…You'll get yours." Doug laid his head on the pillow and turned his back towards Marshall. "Maybe sooner than you expect." Marshall wanted clarification of the statement, but he was interrupted by a soft knock from the door. He stood and holstered his firearm.

"Sleep with the lights on," Marshall instructed before opening the door. He stepped through, adjusting the door to monitor Doug while maintaining their privacy. Mary sat in bed closest to the window, legs crossed under the blankets. Her head was down, fingers tracing the swirled pattern on the comforter. Marshall secured his gun in the drawer of the nightstand between the beds. He moved to the empty bed, pulled a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants from his bag and headed into the bathroom to change. When Marshall emerged, he found Mary lying down, fingers still tracing the swirls. He moved to the space between the beds and turned off the lamp on the nightstand. "Move over," he said. Mary looked up at him and in the shard of light from Doug's room, Marshall could see her scowl.

"I don't think so. There is a perfectly good bed for you to sleep in," she said pointing to the other bed. "Take your spaceship pajamas over there." Marshall reached for the edge of the comforter, yanking it away from Mary's body. "Marshall!" she yelled as he slipped his arms under her back and her knees, lifting her. Marshall knelt on the mattress, dropping her on the other side of the bed. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Mary pushed herself into a sitting position as Marshall took the place next to her and covered their legs with the blankets.

"Lie down and go to sleep," he said, resting his head on the pillow, facing her. "I don't want you being crabby tomorrow when we're in court." Marshall's face was hidden in the dark of the room, but Mary knew it sported a smart-ass smirk. "Stan will be pissed if the judge holds you in contempt." Mary let a quiet laugh roll over her lips. She sorely missed their banter; Marshall's scattered quips bringing a guarded elation. Mary turned her body, glancing towards the window as she wiped a few tears from her face. Marshall shifted until he was sitting behind her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, gently urging her to lean backwards and close the small space between them. "I know you're uncomfortable around Doug," he said quietly. Doug was a distant second on her mind, Marshall knew, but he didn't want to push the issue. "Let me stay here with you," he continued; Mary nodding her consent. Marshall felt the slight tremble that floated over her as she calmed her breathing. "Please don't cry," he whispered over her shoulder.

"Marshall, everything's changing again," she breathed.

"I know," he nodded.

"I don't know if I can do this. If I can-" Placing his other hand on her shoulder, Marshall gently forced Mary to turn back to him.

"We need to get through tomorrow," he said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "Then we'll talk." Mary offered a small nod. Marshall returned to his side of the bed, his arm still around Mary's waist, tugging softly. Mary followed his actions, lying on her pillow, willingly allowing Marshall's touch; needing the emotional assurance of his closeness. She closed her eyes, falling asleep to the thought that she couldn't let her relationship with Marshall revert to its original state. She wondered, worried, if she would be asked a second time to release him. It was an action she would not survive.

**^m*m^**

Marshall sat in a chair five feet to the left of the witness stand, eyes searching the occupants of the courtroom as Doug answered the district attorney's questions. The Boise marshals stood at the doorway in the back of the room, ready to take custody of Doug when his testimony concluded. Marshall tried to keep his attention on the people present, but his wandering continued to settle on Mary. Neither of them slept well the night before, an uncomfortable silence settled around them. Their morning preparation was silent. Even as their SUV pulled alongside the back of the courthouse, parking nose to tail with the Boise marshals' SUV, Mary and Marshall had remained quiet. Their stint as Doug's inspectors was almost finished and Marshall planned to use their drive home to talk with Mary. The SUV was not the ideal place to have the conversation, but it was the only time Marshall would be alone with her. He knew once they were back in Albuquerque, she would have plenty of distractions to keep the talk at bay. Marshall, not knowing how long he'd been ruminating over his partner, was pulled into alertness as Mary sat forward, readying herself on the edge of the bench.

"No further questions, Your Honor," the district attorney said from behind his table.

"Does the defense wish to cross-examine?"

"No, Your Honor." Marshall smiled inwardly. He could hear the defeat in the lawyer's voice. Another drug kingpin would soon be behind bars.

"Very well," Judge Norwood nodded. "Mr. Fredrickson, you may step down." Marshall saw the Boise marshals leave the room; then he looked to Mary, who offered a curt nod as she met his eyes. He stood and moved to Doug's side, escorting the man from the stand through the room and into the hallway. Mary followed closely, moving to Doug's free side as the doors closed behind them.

"This is where we part ways, Douggie," she said as they walked towards the Boise marshals. "Marshal Jameson and Marshal Simmons are your babysitters now. They'll take you back to their office and relocate you from there." Simmons handed Mary a file folder and a pen. She opened the folder, scribbled her name and handed back the lot.

"Is there anything else, Marshal Shannon?"

"Nope. Douggie is all yours," she answered slapping Doug on the back.

"Right this way, Douggie," Simmons smiled. With a roll of his eyes, Doug turned and followed the Boise marshals.

"I'm sorry to say it, Mary. I'm sure not going to miss you." Doug stopped and turned around. "How about a good-bye kiss?" Marshall reached forward, turning Doug and twisting an arm behind his back.

"I thought I said 'enough'," Marshall said quietly. Marshal Simmons firmly grabbed Doug's free arm and moved him through the hallway. Mary and Marshall continued to walk behind the three towards the back entrance. As they passed through the doorway, Marshall noticed the positions of the SUVs, no longer parked end to end in front of the doors. Their vehicle, parked far to the right of the door, left the team completely exposed as they emerged from the building. From the corner of his eye, Marshall saw movement on the far side of the lot. Jameson and Simmons ducked to the left towards their SUV, pulling Doug along and giving Marshall clear vision of the firearm and the shooter. The gun did not follow Doug as Marshall expected, but stayed trained on him and Mary.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Mary and Marshall continued to walk behind Doug and the Boise marshals as the three headed towards the back entrance. As they passed through the doorway, Marshall noticed the positions of the SUVs, no longer parked end to end in front of the doors. Their vehicle, parked far to the right of the door, left the team completely exposed as they emerged from the building. From the corner of his eye, Marshall saw movement on the far side of the lot. Jameson and Simmons ducked to the left towards their SUV, pulling Doug along and giving Marshall clear vision of the firearm and the shooter. The gun did not follow Doug as Marshall expected, but stayed trained on him and Mary.

Before hearing the first shot, Marshall wrapped his arm around Mary's shoulders. He fell backwards against the door, both tumbling onto the granite-tiled floor as the door gave way. He pushed Mary off his body and rolled on top of her. Mary placed her hands on the floor and pushed herself up as Marshall shifted his arm to encircle her waist. She let him pull her to her feet and lead her as she kept her head down; bullets piercing the air around them. Marshall pulled Mary to the side, finding protection in a small janitor's closet. He drew his firearm as he pushed her into the corner, shielding her with his body. Mary tried to push Marshall away, needing room to draw her weapon, but a firm arm and a strict expression shot over his shoulder kept her in place. The gunfire continued for a brief moment, halted by the chaotic combination of squealing tires and shrieking sirens. Several courthouse officers and several men in suits ran passed the closet, weapons drawn. One suited man stopped in the doorway, firearm trained on the pair. Marshall broke Mary's detainment to quickly retrieve his badge and hold it in the air.

"I'm U.S. Marshal-"

"Stand down, Marshal Mann." Marshall frowned but did as instructed. "I'm Agent Tyler, DOJ."

"There are two marshals and a civilian out back. I don't know if they made cover," Marshall stated. Agent Tyler shook his head, holstering his firearm.

"They're not marshals. At least, they're not anymore," he shrugged. The cell phone on Tyler's hip buzzed. "Excuse me." He stepped into the hallway as he answered the call. Marshall slipped his firearm into the holster and clipped his badge on the waist of his pants as he turned to Mary.

"Are you all right?" he asked, brushing a wisp of hair from her face.

_ Marshall ducked, but it was too late. The jagged shards of glass flew at him, slicing the skin along his hairline. The burn released a strong shot of adrenaline that aided his instinctually driven movements. He turned towards Mary as she turned away from him, settling one hand on her hip, one on her back. He dropped to his knees as he followed her to the floor, the hand on her hip helping her to avoid landing on her stomach. As she rolled slightly to one side, she lifted her arm to protect her head. Marshall crawled through the glass fragments that continued to rain around them and over the ones that littered the ground and laid his body on top of Mary. He positioned himself over her, careful not to put any pressure on her unborn baby. He folded his arm around Mary's and laid his head on hers, offering additional protection to her face._

"Yeah," she whispered, her breathing beginning to soften. "Are you?"

"Yeah."

"What the hell was that?" she asked. Marshall shook his head. "He's talking about us," Mary said, indicating Agent Tyler with a quick lift of her chin. They moved a couple of steps away from the corner and listened to the agent in the hallway. "Witness from Boise?" Mary mumbled. She touched Marshall's arm, gaining his attention. "Maxwell Duncan. He was coming to us from Boise," she said. Agent Tyler turned towards them, phone still to his ear, and motioned them to follow him.

"Do you think this is related?" Marshall asked quietly as they were lead through the hallway.

"Maybe," Mary shrugged. "Duncan was supposed to testify in a cross-country drug trafficking case. He was pretty low on the totem pole, but he knew a lot of names." Marshall narrowed his eyes as he mulled over her words.

"Doug's case was drug related, too."

"What are the chances Doug was working with Duncan? I mean two witnesses, one coming _from_ the Boise office, the other going _to_ the Boise office. And, coincidentally, both witnesses...assigned to us. What the hell makes us so damned special?" Mary shrugged again and they followed Agent Tyler through the door to the back lot.

"You think someone has hooks in Boise?" Marshall whispered.

"Marshal Mann? Marshal Shannon?" A tall, dark haired man stepped forward from a group of officers, extending his hand. "I'm Agent Williams. I'm the head of this…" He looked around. "This." Five police cars and three unmarked Sedans cluttered the lot. Marshall watched as two officers packed Doug into the back seat of one of the squad cars.

"What, exactly, is 'this'?" Mary asked.

"A long story," he answered.

"We have time," Marshall said. Williams sighed.

"Four months ago, Maxwell Duncan was set to testify in a very high-profile drug trafficking case. Before the trial began, his security was compromised and he was to be transferred into your care, temporarily."

"Yeah and, he was offed before he made it to us," Mary said crassly.

"Yes. After a run that killed three innocent teenagers, Duncan turned himself in and entered Witness Protection in exchange for names. He gave many. Those, and very few, that were not found dead were taken in. Duncan also gave Randall Christopher, the second in command. But, he didn't know the man at the top. You do. You know him as Douglas Fray."

"Douggie," Mary hissed. Williams raised an eyebrow and nodded slowly.

"Wait a minute," Marshall said, holding up a hand. "According to Duncan's file, a man by the name of Ryan Dahl was the head honcho."

"Yeah, well," Agent Williams rubbed his forehead. "We changed the name before the file made it to your office. We couldn't risk connections being made and tipping off our rogue marshals. Before the feds could get a hand on Randall, Doug purposely got himself arrested. He planted evidence pointing to Randall as the head of the game. He handed over the false information and entered the program, placed in Albuquerque. With a little help from us, Jameson and Simmons got custody of Duncan and transference to you."

"Why us?" Marshall asked.

"We were trying to involve as few people as possible. Since you already had Doug…" Williams shrugged.

"And Jameson and Simmons?" Marshall continued.

"Doug has been lining their pockets for years in exchange for protecting the runners. Making speeding tickets, parking tickets disappear, curbing the attention of local law enforcement agencies. Voiding any trail left by the runners. When Duncan, the only one who could identify Randall, was murdered, the information he gave was thrown out of court."

"But, they still had Doug's…information," Mary said.

"And, with Doug's testimony, Randall is left to take the fall," Marshall added.

"Yeah."

"Why didn't Randall turn on Doug?" Mary asked.

"He tried. Randall knew Doug by one name: 'Boss'. And, up until Doug's appearance in court today, the two have never met face to face," Williams answered. "He had nothing to show otherwise."

"So, with the help of two dirty marshals, Doug takes out his entire crew, makes Randall the fall guy and rides off into the sunset under a different alias, free to keep his drug trafficking intact," she said.

"Yes," Williams confirmed. "Jameson and Simmons alongside as personal protection."

"I have…a question," she started.

"Oh, no," Marshall mumbled.

"So, you knew what Doug had planned." Williams nodded. "And you knew Maxwell Duncan was going to be taken out of the picture…permanently." Williams nodded again. "And, what about the three marshals that died protecting Duncan?"

"Marshal Shannon, you know how this job works. We had no way of knowing exactly what was going to happen. They were, unfortunately, collateral damage." Mary nodded.

"This whole little thing," she said, finger pointing to the police vehicles.

"We needed Jameson and Simmons to make the move. We had to catch them protecting Doug. From the wrong side of the fence, that is. They are very smart and catching them in the act has not been easy. There was such an intricate network; information changed so many hands between Doug and these two," he said, motioning to the squad cars that housed Jameson and Simmons. "This is the first time we've witnessed in-person interaction. Lots of cash, airline tickets, fake IDs and passports in the SUV…it's what we needed." Mary looked at Marshall.

"Do you think he knew about the shooter?" she asked.

"I do think that," Marshall answered.

"So do I. Do you think he knew that we'd be shot at?"

"I think that, as well."

"Hmm." Mary turned to Williams. "Do you think he could have given us a heads up?"

"You are reading my mind, Partner." Marshall knew what was coming, and, he made no effort to stop it. Mary took two steps towards Williams, the man stumbling backwards as her fist made contact with his face. Marshall watched proudly as Williams struggled to contain the blood flowing from his nose.

"Sorry," Mary smiled sweetly. "Collateral damage."

"Better now?" Marshall asked her with a smile.

"I feel like a brand new woman," she said, wiggling the sting out of her fingers. Marshall shook his head and lead Mary back into the building.

"Come on. We need to call Stan and let him know that this situation was mashed."

"Seriously? With the potato puns?" Mary asked, eyes narrowed. Marshall smiled sheepishly.

"I couldn't let that one go."

**^m*m^**

Mary stood, arms crossed in front of her chest, staring across both beds at Marshall. He laid his spaceship pajama pants on the bed, meticulously folding them into a neat square of fabric and placing them into this duffle bag. Mary looked down at her own bag and the small pile of clothes that sat beside it. She rifled through the pile. She was not going to sit in uncomfortable court clothes during the four-and-a-half-hour drive home. She pulled out a worn pair of blue jeans, shoving the rest of the clothing into her bag. Her eyes returned to Marshall. He'd also opted for more relaxed clothing: blue jeans and a faded grey button-down shirt.

Mary's attention drifted back to Marshall's hands. He had moved on to his personal effects, tightening the cap on the toothpaste tube, placing the little protective box over the bristled end of his toothbrush. He dug in the small, front pocket of the duffle bag and retrieved a plastic baggie, slipping the dental items inside. She had no desire to tease him over this particular obsessive-compulsive trait, as she'd done on numerous occasions in the past. For the first time, Marshall's exhaustive packing routine did not bother Mary. Every minute he took to fill his duffle bag, was another minute she could put off the talk he wanted to have. She knew it was necessary, and a long time in coming, but she had no desire to open wounds that were not anywhere near healed. She pushed all thoughts of the conversation from her mind as she moved to the dresser to pick up her hoodie. As she crossed the room, she absently rubbed her elbow, occupying her mind with thoughts of a coveted, long nap in the passenger seat of their SUV.

"Shit." Marshall looked up from his hunched position over the bed, eyebrows raised at Mary's curse. With her right arm extended in front of her body, the fingers of her left hand twisted the fabric of her sleeve around her arm.

"What?" he asked, straightening his back.

"Bullet burn," she answered. Marshall frowned in confusion and watched as her fingers continued to play across the sleeve; her index finger slipping curiously into a hole in the fabric. He closed the space between them and firmly took her wrists. "Hey!" she shouted, trying to pull free.

"Shut up." Marshall placed her hands at her sides and lifted his to her collar.

"Marshall," Mary started, trying to shrug off his hands, Marshall batting away her defenses.

"Let me see your arm." His fingers ran over her collarbone as he slipped his hands under the blazer, careful not to catch the straps of her tank top as he pushed the outer garment over stubborn shoulders.

"My arm is fine," she stated. Despite her verbal and physical protests, Marshall successfully removed the blazer, letting it fall past her hands and to the floor. He held her wrist, unsure of how to position her arm for his viewing.

"Turn around," he ordered, though his hands, on her hips, were already maneuvering her body.

"Watch it. I don't need to be manhandled by you for a second time today." Marshall looked into the mirror above the dresser, meeting Mary's eyes in its reflection. The concerned look on his face softened; Mary thanking him, in her own way, for protecting her at the courthouse. His fingers, wrapped around her arm, gently rubbed the skin above the rope-burn-like abrasion in acknowledgement of her gratitude.

"Why didn't you tell me you were hurt?" he asked quietly.

"It's nothing, Marshall. I didn't even know it was there until thirty seconds ago." Mary looked over her shoulder. "How bad is it?"

"Not _bad_ bad," he answered, studying the red mark above her elbow. "But it's not pretty. I'm going to grab the first aid kit in the SUV."

"Marshall." Mary watched as he left the room and then turned her back to the mirror. She, again, looked over her shoulder, catching site of the mark.

_ Mary dropped to her hands and knees, avoiding landing on her pregnant stomach. She shifted slightly to one hip and tucked into as much of a fetal position as her swollen abdomen would allow. As Mary brought her arm up to protect her head from the hail of glass shards, she felt a heaviness settle over her body, knowing immediately that the weight belonged to Marshall. He positioned himself over her, careful not to put any pressure on her unborn baby. Marshall's arm folded around Mary's, offering additional protection to her face. She felt his breath on her ear as he rested his temple on her head._

_ "I've got you," he whispered as he tightened his hold on her._

_ The bullets continued to fly over them in a moment brief yet unbearably long. When it finally ended, Marshall's hand slid from the top of Mary's head to her back and she lifted her head when she felt the warmth of his body leave her side. She turned to him, eyes widening as she saw the blood dripping down his face. Instinctively, Mary reached for Marshall, about to voice her concern when he gently pushed her hand away; his eyes making known that his sole focus was her safety._

Marshall returned with the white plastic box and took a seat on the end of the bed, expectant eyes meeting Mary's. "I'm sorry, what?" she asked, shaking away the recollection.

"Sit," he instructed, pointing at the mattress.

"Marshall, I don't need-"

"Sit," he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

**^m*m^**

Marshall leaned against the driver's door of the SUV, hands stuffed in his pockets as he regarded the grey clouds overhead. An hour and a half had passed since he and Mary left Amarillo, during which time the clouds steadily darkened. A soft breeze floated over the sand-ridden parking lot, offering puffs of warm air scented with the promise of rain. Marshall drew a deep breath, letting the freshness of the air calm him. He and Mary shared only a handful of necessary words since leaving the hotel, Mary wary of the conversation on the horizon, Marshall unsure of how to start it.

"Un-fucking-believable." Marshall dropped his gaze from the sky to his partner. Mary vigorously shook her hands as she approached. "Is there some rule forbidding gas station bathrooms to have paper towels?" Marshall tilted his head to the side as she stopped in front of him.

"There were paper towels in the men's room. You should have gone in _there_." Mary stepped forward, Marshall to the side. "Hey!" he yelled as she wiped her wet hands on the back of his grey shirt. "Ugh, come on!" Marshall scowled, but she knew it was all for show.

"Like you didn't know that was coming." Mary wiped the rest of the moisture on the front of her jeans. "Come on, let's go before it rains. If you get wet, I won't have anything dry to wipe my hands on at the next rest stop." Mary walked around the front of the SUV to the passenger side, yanking on the handle only to find the door locked. "Marshall! Open the door." He walked leisurely to Mary's side.

"You know, Stan said we don't have to go back to the office tonight."

"Yeah, you told me that already."

"So," he started slowly. "What's the hurry?"

"No, no, Marshall," Mary whined. "Not here."

"Mary." His voice was soft but serious as he stepped closer to her. "You know as well as I do that when we're back in Albuquerque there's no chance of us talking."

"Kind of what I was counting on, Marshall," she mumbled. "I'm not ready for this."

"Are you ever going to be?" he asked knowingly. She shook her head as she released the handle and leaned her back on the SUV.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she said softly, every thought slowly, uncontrollably bubbling to the service.

"_I_ don't want you to say anything. Say what _you_ want to say." Mary stayed quiet, staring at her shoe as she dug her toe into the sandy ground. "Mary, I need to know…what…why…" Marshall sighed in frustration and copied her position against the SUV.

"What why what?" she asked. Mary pushed off the vehicle and wandered a few steps. Marshall watched as she ran a hand through her hair then quickly turned back to him. "I pushed you away, Marshall. All right? I'll admit that. You know how well I deal with change and there was some need for semblance of sanity on my part. And, despite of what you may think, my actions were for you. I was out of your way, leaving you alone so you could be happy." She stepped closer. "But, you…_You_ pushed out of spite."

"What? I did no such thing!"

"Yeah, Marshall, you did. You were angry with me for backing off. What you said at the hospital that night…the night Abigail was shot…I didn't know what the hell to think."

"I lost my wife, Mary," Marshall said tightly, taking one of few last steps that remained between them. "I'm sorry that I-"

"Sorry? You're sorry? Why? Sorry that you told me to fuck off? Sorry that I dropped _everything_ to be with you and you threw me to the side? Literally, Marshall!" She stepped closer. "I didn't want to over step the lines we'd drawn, but I couldn't let you go through that alone. You're still my best friend. And, you made it perfectly fucking clear that you didn't want me around. You wouldn't return my calls or-"

"Mary-"

"I know it's hard to lose a loved one and-"

"Don't pretend to understand, Mary. You have never had to watch someone you love die like that."

_ "Oh, my God," Mary whispered, breathing shallow as her eyes took in her father's condition. As he lay in her lap, her hands covered his chest, trying in desperation to slow the flow of blood. His hands, still cuffed, shook as he tried to touch her hand. Movement to Mary's right caught her attention; O'Conner was approaching, weapon drawn. "Get an ambulance," she said weakly._

_ "What the hell are you doing here, Shannon?" he asked, almost scolding, as he holstered his firearm._

_ "Get a goddamned ambulance!" she yelled. O'Conner pulled his cell phone from his pocket, his suspicious eyes cautiously watching Mary as he walked away._

_ "When I left…" James started, his words as labored as his breathing. "You had a…suitcase…with…flowers."_

_ "It's okay," Mary soothed. "It's okay."_

_ "We never did…g-get…to t-t-take that trip." A comfortable emptiness exploded in her chest, finally freeing the six-year-old haunted by the broken promise of her father's last words._

_ "It's okay. It's okay, Daddy," she said by way of forgiveness as she started to cry. "I'm here with you now, okay? It's okay."_

_ "We never…" James' voice peacefully faded._

_ "I'm not going anywhere. It's okay," she said, now more for her sake than her father's. "I'm not going anywhere," she whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."_

"I'm sorry," Marshall sighed, immediately realizing what he said. Mary took a deep breath, unable to let his comment pass.

"No," she said with a slow shake of her head. "My story in no way compares to what you're going through. When my father died, all I lost was an impossible dream. I didn't lose anyone who loved me in return. And, I'm not pretending to understand, Marshall. But, I'm smart enough to know that losing a loved one hurts," she bit. "My life has not been ideal. It's been _so _fucked up. I used to believe that made me incapable of loving someone. I mean, an alcoholic mother, a drugged up sister…a father who only existed in memories that, by the way, I'm still not sure are even real. Who the hell could learn to love in that kind of mess, right? For a long time, I didn't think…" Mary bit her bottom lip. "And, then, I met you and…and I understood, for the _first time_ I understood what love was, what it meant. What it felt like. I saw it without strings attached. Christ, Marshall, when you were shot, I…" Her shoulders slumped and she released a quiet sigh as she turned away from him.

_ Mary's arms were shaking, muscles stressed from the tight grip she had on the steering wheel. The ambulance flanked by two squad cars came into view. Her breath hitched in her throat, the last ten seconds of her drive seemed excessively long. Carefully, she slowed the SUV, slamming the vehicle into park before jumping out of the driver's door._

_ "Over here, guys!" she yelled, slamming the door. "Over here! He's in the back!" Mary slowly opened the back door, worried by Marshall's coughing. "Marshall, we made it." Gently, she slipped her hands under his head, supporting his neck and shoulders. Her eyes found the water bottle, the red liquid inside uncomfortably thick. "Just hang in there, Buddy. Okay? Hang in there." She moved into the door as the EMTs joined her side._

_ "We've got him," the woman assured Mary. She nodded._

_ "You're good, Marshall. We made it." Mary backed away, turning as she heard Stan call her name. They jogged across the pavement, meeting by the ambulance._

_ "You okay?"_

_ "I'm fine," she sighed. "Stan, it's Marshall." Mary glanced towards the SUV with watery eyes. "It's bad. It's really bad." Stan put a supporting hand on Mary's arm._

_ "Okay. Well, you got him here alive and they can do amazing things," he comforted. "Okay?"_

_ "Yeah." Mary ran a hand over her head, releasing a breath of helplessness and fear as she watched the EMTs roll the gurney, Marshall secured to its top, to the ambulance._

"Mary?" he prodded, bothered by her sudden silence.

"I didn't think I was going to get help in time," she said quietly. "I thought you were going to die in that hell-hole of a shack." Mary started to cry as she turned her back to him. "Even after you were in the operating room…I-I was scared that you weren't going to come back to me. I've _never_ felt so terrified."

"Mare," Marshall whispered, stepping forward to offer his comfort.

"No." Mary held up a halting hand. "I know that you were asking for a little space. I know that. I was the one that screwed that up. Okay? I didn't mean to push you away."

"Mary, you were protecting yourself," Marshall nodded. "I get it." Mary ignored his comment and continued.

"But, this," she said, reaching for him. She pulled his shirt from the waist of his pants, maneuvering it so he could see the wet marks made by her hands. "I can't do this. I can't be 'Mary and Marshall'. It's changed somehow and I don't know how to get back there."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that I don't know what to do!" Mary released his shirt and backed away. "Should we even try? Does it-does it seem right that we go back to how we were after everything that has happened?"

"Mary," he scolded. "How many times have we fought before? We always make it out of that."

"I'm not talking about the fighting, Marshall. I'm talking about Abigail," she said quietly. "It just feels wrong. Doesn't it feel wrong?"

"No," he said slowly. "Mary, I never wanted to let you go. Abigail didn't want that, either."

"I know that."

"If-if she would have asked me to do so…I would have left her." Mary met Marshall's eyes, silence filling the air around them.

"I've never said it," Mary started. "And, I know I should have. So many times. I can never make up for that," she conceded. "But…I love you, Marshall Mann. You are my best friend, you're…you're…"

"_This," he started, waving his hands between them, "what we have, it's undefinable, and up until now nothing's ever come along to jeopardize that."_

"_Marshall, you're my best friend. You're my only friend. I mean, forget friend, you're-" Mary shrugged. "You know."_

"'You know'," he finished for her.

"You know," Mary nodded. "You are the only one I trust, the only one whose opinion of me _matters _to me, the only one I don't ever want to disappoint. I know you will catch me if I fall. Hell, _when _I fall. Marshall, you and Norah are the only people I have loved without condition. I would give up everything, sacrifice _everything_ so the two of you could be safe and healthy and-and happy."

_ "So, Mary made the ultimate sacrifice for you," Seth nodded his understanding. "How did it become so…" he shrugged, unable to find the right word._

_ "I don't know." Marshall shook his head. "No, that's a lie. I do know." He stayed silent, staring again at the floor._

_ "__**What**__ happened?" Seth prodded._

_ "I think Mary and I so harshly reached an impasse..." Marshall quieted. "It doesn't matter," he dismissed. _

_ "Son, everything matters."_

"Damn it, Marshall! I just wanted to help. I wanted to protect _you_…from the world." Mary chocked over the last words and turned away. Marshall released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He stepped over to Mary, walking around her as he laid a hand on her hip. The fingers of his other hand gently brushed her cheek before skating over the top of her ear and winding in her hair. Marshall tightened his hold, pulling Mary close to his body.

"Mary," he whispered sadly, gently resting his chin on her head. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, Marshall." Mary sobbed, muffled against his shirt and wrapped her arms around her partner's waist, vowing never again to let him go.


	9. Chapter 9

**a/n:** Na-uh. I refuse to believe it has been as long as it has since I've posted a chapter. Nope. Not how it happened. Okay, it is. I'm sorry. Life has been busy in the last month. But, I think I have taken care of everything on the list and now have the free time to pluck away. Thank you to everyone who has read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. Your support means the world to me!

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Nine**

"Wait, wait, wait," Jinx started excitedly as she moved towards the highchair. "You have to light the candle, Mary."

"Mom, you are not putting a lit candle within arm's reach of my daughter," Mary said, protectively running her fingers through Norah's thin, blonde curls.

"Mary," Mark laughed. "You're on that side; I'll stand on this side. She'll be fine." Jinx pulled the match across the box and lit the wick on the wax number one.

"Okay, okay!" Jinx moved around the kitchen table. "Come on, gather around." Brandi cradled Breindel in her arm and stepped between Jinx and Peter. Joanna moved to Jinx's other side, the grandmothers proudly taking each other's hand. "Here we go! Happy birthday to you!"

"Oh, wow," Mary sighed, covering her face with her hand as the group sang in several keys. Mark reached over the back of the high chair, shaking Mary's shoulder as he sang louder and more off-key; his smile wide and goofy.

"Time for Mommy and Daddy to blow out the candle," Brandi called as they finished their song of celebration. Jinx and Joanna held up their cameras, poised to capture the moment.

"Come on, Mommy," Mark said. He tugged on Mary's sleeve and leaned towards the cake. Mary shook her head, but played along, blowing on the candle to the pleasure of her family. Mark moved the cake to the table and cut a piece for Norah. "Here you are, Princess. Dig in." Norah looked at her father, then back to her piece of cake, curiously pushing her hand into it. Mary watched as her daughter shoved a handful of cake into her mouth, smearing the better portion on her nose and chin. As she reached for a second helping, Mary held back the tears she felt prick at her eyes. The little girl she had not planned on having was a little girl she could not imagine not having. In the short year of Norah's life, Mary's had changed for the better. As much as she loathed surprises, becoming a mother was a surprise she was grateful to have experienced.

"All right," Mary said as Norah dropped a clump of cake over the edge of the tray and rubbed her sugared hand over the top of her head. "I'm going to clean up Frosting Monster." She removed her daughter from the chair, keeping some space between herself and Norah's frosting-covered fingers as she walked towards the bathroom.

"Oh, Honey," Joanna said as she hugged Mark's shoulders. "Can you believe that your little one is already a year old?" she smiled, stepping in to help clean the high chair.

"No, Ma. I can't. It's just…It's incredible," he smiled back.

**^m*m^**

"Bug, look at you," Mary said as she placed Norah in the bath water. "I still don't understand how you managed to get frosting in your diaper," she laughed softly. Norah happily splashed as Mary wiped the mess from her little body. Mary leaned her arms along the edge of the tub, resting her chin on her hands as Norah played. "When did you get to be so big?" Norah looked at her mother and raised her arms with a giggle. "Yeah, that's right," Mary smiled. "So big." Hearing the soft creak from the hinges on the bathroom door, she turned to see her visitor.

"Hey," Mark started, closing the door behind him. "Marshall's here. He said he needs to talk with you." He knelt on the floor next to Mary, sharing the small space in front of the bathtub. "I can finish up," he said.

"Yeah, thanks." She shifted to stand, but was stilled by Mark's hand on her knee.

"Are you…I mean is-is everything…" He shrugged. "With the two of you?" Mary smiled gently.

"Everything is fine."

"You're sure? 'Cause, you know, for a while…"

"Mark," she warned lightly.

"Yeah, yeah," he smiled. "I just want to make sure you're all right."

"I'm all right," she assured him. "Marshall and I are fine." Mark nodded.

"Good. Then, go," he said, splashing some water on her. She scowled playfully, forcing all of her weight on his shoulders as she stood. "Abuse! Abuse!" he yelled.

"Yeah, you wish." Mary walked to the end of the hallway, eyes searching the living room for her partner. He stood between Jinx and Joanna, a genuine smile on his face as the women shared their pictures of Norah's first birthday. Mary caught his eye when he finally glanced in her direction and motioned for him to follow her. He politely excused himself and trailed after Mary, through the hallway and into her bedroom. "Hey, how is she?" Mary asked, closing the door after Marshall entered the room.

"Marla's going to be just fine," he answered. "A few cuts and scrapes, a couple of bruises but nothing major."

"So, what she said…was it true? Did a street lamp really fall on her car while she was in it?"

"Yep," Marshall nodded.

"She wasn't drinking? Wasn't driving? Didn't crash into it?"

"Nope. It just…fell." He shrugged. "Right out of a bad story."

"Jesus," Mary breathed, running a hand through her hair. "I thought she was just panicking. You know, over reacting. How is it possible for a person to be injured as much as she is?" Marshall shook his head.

"Bad karma," he supplied.

"I'd say."

"Speaking of," he started slowly. "Kenny was in the car, too." Mary narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Was he?"

"Mm-hmm. Five of his cuts were pretty nasty; required stitches. Probably going to scar."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Mary asked as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

"They were on his face," Marshall continued.

"Okay, that does make me feel a little bit better," she smiled softly. "Thank you for going to the hospital, Marshall."

"It's your daughter's birthday, Mary. There was no way I was letting you take the call." He stepped closer. "Which brings me to an interesting question…" He brushed his finger along the line of Mary's jaw. "Saving some for later?" he asked, showing her the frosting he wiped from her face.

"Funny, Doofus." Mary moved passed him to the dresser, pulling a wipe from the diaper bag. "So, you could have called me," she said, returning to his side to wipe his finger. "You didn't have to come over."

"And miss this?" Marshall lifted his hands, gathering Mary's hair behind her head, and snatched the wipe from her hand. "I don't think so," he laughed, wiping the frosting from her neck. "Is this all from Norah or did you miss _your_ mouth?"

"I should smack you for that."

"But you won't. At least, not while I have your family members as witnesses to your abuse."

"You are the second person in the last ten minutes to call abuse on me," she frowned.

"Does that surprise you?"

"Yes," she answered incredulously. "It does."

"Me, too. I would think, with this many people in the house, that the number would be higher than two." Mary bit back her comment, choosing instead to study Marshall's face as he pulled the wipe across her skin.

_ "But, this," she said, reaching for him. She pulled his shirt from the waist of his pants, maneuvering it so he could see the wet marks made by her hands. "I can't do this. I can't be 'Mary and Marshall'. It's changed somehow and I don't know how to get back there."_

_ "What does that mean?"_

_ "It means that I don't know what to do!" Mary released his shirt and backed away. "Should we even try? Does it-does it seem right that we go back to how we were after everything that has happened?"_

_ "Mary," he scolded. "How many times have we fought before? We always make it out of that."_

_ "I'm not talking about the fighting, Marshall. I'm talking about Abigail," she said quietly. "It just feels wrong. Doesn't it feel wrong?"_

It was too easy to fall into well-worn habits and old routines; the volleying of insults and innuendo second nature to the pair. Mary thought she would welcome the familiarity in its return, but her reservations held strong. Too much had happened, and, despite the words spewed between them, too much remained unspoken.

"_Damn it, Marshall! I just wanted to help. I wanted to protect __**you**__…from the world." Mary chocked over the last words and turned away. Marshall released a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He stepped over to Mary, walking around her as he laid a hand on her hip. The fingers of his other hand gently brushed her cheek before skating over the top of her ear and winding in her hair. Marshall tightened his hold, pulling Mary close to his body._

_ "Mary," he whispered sadly, gently resting his chin on her head. "I'm sorry."_

"_I'm sorry, Marshall." Mary sobbed, muffled against his shirt, and wrapped her arms around her partner's waist, vowing never again to let him go. They remained silent in each other's hold as their tears subsided. Marshall sighed and shifted to lay his cheek along Mary's forehead. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he needed to say to her, but the jumble of thoughts in their demanding to be heard made it difficult for Marshall to form a coherent sentence. As he opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, he felt a cool breeze break through the warm desert air, chilling the wet spots on the back of his shirt. His ears registered the angry clap of thunder before his mind could make note of the bright streak of lightening striking in the distance._

"_Mary?"_

"_Yeah." She said quietly. She took a nervous breath as she pulled back from him, not understanding the liking of having his arms wrapped around her. "We should go," she said, not allowing him a chance to speak. Marshall slid his hands to her elbows, preventing her from moving any farther._

"_We need to do this," he said as he cupped her face, forcing her eyes to his. "When we get home, we need to talk." The words barely passed his lips when the clouds released the torrent of moisture they were holding. Marshall ducked his head, reaching into his pocket for the keys and hitting the button on the remote to unlock the doors. After helping Mary into the SUV, he sprinted to the driver's side and jumped in. He ran a hand through his soaked hair and turned to Mary. She sat slumped in the seat, arms wrapped around her body, eyes focused through the passenger window. Mary's position was a declaration of conversation closed. Marshall lost the opportunity to voice his thoughts and he would hear nothing more from Mary during the trip home._

"Why won't you talk to me about Kenny?" Marshall asked quietly, pulling Mary back to the present.

"There's nothing to say about him, Marshall." She moved to the side, freeing her hair from his hand. Their remaining drive to Albuquerque had given Mary plenty of time to rethink agreeing to a talk. Upon arriving home, she had immediately busied herself with Norah and every little thing she could find to keep Marshall from occupying her time. He didn't ask; he didn't push. Mary knew he was expecting her avoidance and she was certainly not disappointing that expectation. Though unwilling to let the separation grow so extremely between them again, she could not pretend the last six months had not happened. Her bridge was too low to allow the water to flow beneath it. She took the wipe from Marshall's hand and moved to the dresser. "End of conversation," she said, dropping the wipe into the small garbage can on the floor. "So, why did you come over?" He watched her cross her arms in front of her chest, recognizing the look on her face to mean even a fight wouldn't get him the answers he wanted.

"I have a present for Norah Bean," he shrugged.

"You are not going to let that nickname go, are you?"

"You're the last person who should be criticizing nicknames," Marshall smirked. "What do you call those in your family? Squish? Bug? Toad?"

"Come on. Let's have some cake." Mary walked to the door and reached for the doorknob, noticing a small blotch of frosting on the back of her wrist. She promised herself this would be the last time she acted on old, familiar impulses. Mary quickly turned, grabbing Marshall's collar and wiping the back of her hand across his cheek.

"Ugh, Mary!" She opened the door and smiled mischievously. "Payback is a bitch, Mary," Marshall warned as he left the room.

"Yeah," she conceded. "But, so am I." Mary followed Marshall into the living room.

"There's Mommy!" Mark said, Norah in his arms as he sat on the couch. "Time for presents!"

**^m*m^**

"So," Brandi started slowly, taking a seat on the sofa next to Mary. "What were you and Marshall doing?"

"When?" Mary asked absently, bending off the cushion to pull a stray scrap of wrapping paper off the floor.

"Earlier, when Marshall came over. When the two of you were in your bedroom," she giggled.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Brandi. What are you? Fourteen?" Mary crumpled the paper, pinching it between her thumb and forefinger. "We were discussing work."

"Yeah, okay. And, Marshall had frosting all over his face, why?"

"It wasn't all over his face. It was just a small smudge on his cheek," she clarified.

"Mary, come on. I know we don't do the whole slumber-party-sharing-of-our-feelings thing, but…" Brandi smiled. "I'm your sister and I can see it." Mary remained quiet, staring at the now worn piece of paper in her hand. "You love him, Mary," she said quietly. "And, I think you have for a long time. I get that being partners would make things…messy." Mary lifted her head sharply, studying her sister. "He needs to hear you say the words, Mary. He deserves to know how you feel."

"Brandi," Mary said with a slow exhale. "It's Marshall, Brandi. _Marshall_. Yes, he's my partner. Yes, he's my best friend."

"He's your only friend," Brandi mumbled, lifting her bottle of water to her mouth.

"He is my only friend," Mary agreed. "But, we're not like that. That's not…We're not like that." Brandi listened to her sister, wondering if Mary realized how well rehearsed her denial sounded. "_And_, Marshall just buried his wife. A month ago, Squish. Now is not the time to tell him how I feel." Brandi started to speak, but Mary cut her off. "_If_ I had feelings for him. Which I _don't_." She slumped back into the cushions, returning her attention to the piece of paper. "I don't."

"Whatever, you big liar." Brandi held back a smile. "I won't say another word."

"Here we are, all clean and bundled up and ready to go home." Both women rose from the couch, Brandi taking Breindel from Peter. "Thanks for having us over, Mary," he said as Brandi tucked their son into the car seat. "I still cannot believe that Norah is a year old."

"It does go faster that you'd think." Mary pointed to Breindel with a tip of her chin. "Won't be long for you, either." Peter nodded and smiled.

"Okay." Brandi grabbed the diaper bag from its place on the floor next to the couch. "We'll see you soon," she said, wrapping an arm around Mary.

"Bye, Squish." Peter grabbed the car seat as they walked towards the door. He stopped, lifting the car seat slightly as Mary leaned down and kissed Breindel's forehead. "Bye, Toad."

"Oh, Mary," Peter sighed. "Toad? You're still sticking with that?"

"Well, I could have called him 'Squash'," she said, looking down at the chubby bundle.

"Squish…Squash…" He rolled his eyes. "I guess 'Toad' is marginally better."

"Yeah," she smiled.

"Hey, by the way, you're right. It's not the right time." Mary raised an eyebrow in question. "But, your sister is right, too. You _are_ a liar." With the comment, Peter walked through the doorway. Mary closed the door and headed into the living room.

_ "I should be happy for him," she said quietly. "And I am. I __**am**__ happy for him." Mary looked at Mark. He nodded slowly. "Marshall is a great man; he deserves to have someone love him. And Abigail is…she's wonderful. She's sweet and charming. And-and she's smart and she puts up with his mind-numbing spouts of useless information which, believe me, primes her for sainthood." Mary paused. "She loves him and she makes him happy and that is a __**fraction**__ of what he deserves from life."_

_ "Do you love him?"_

_ "Of course, I love him. He's my best friend, Mark." She dropped her head._

_ "Are you…in love with him?"_

"_What?" Mary met Mark's eyes. "I don't…no, I…He's my best friend and I couldn't…It-it's not-"_

"_Mary." He put his hands on her shoulders, gently turning her body squarely to his._

_ "It shouldn't…__**I**__ shouldn't feel like this, Mark," she said softly. "It's not supposed to hurt this much." Mark wrapped his arms around Mary and held her tightly as she cried._

Mary knew exactly why she felt the way she did, why it hurt. It hurt because she was losing her best friend. And that, as though it wasn't enough, was _all _it was.

"I am not a liar!"

**^m*m^**

Mary leaned a hip against the counter, absently stirring the coffee in her dark blue mug. Her night ad been restless, the mantra "I am not in love with Marshall" repeating relentlessly in her head. She didn't understand how Brandi and Peter had drawn that conclusion. Things happened to a person in love, symptoms Mary was not experiencing. She didn't get butterflies in her stomach when she was in Marshall's presence. Her skin didn't tingle in response to his touch. She didn't daydream about him. She didn't think about him all of the time. The things that happened in her life did not constantly remind her of him. Yes, they bickered and fought like a long-married couple, but, they were best friends, knew everything about each other, including which buttons to push. Yes, she preferred his company to that of everyone else she knew, but, they were best friends, shared many common interests. Yes, she missed him while he was out of the office on long days or on vacation, but, they were best friends and everyone should be happy to see a friend after an absence.

"You know," Marshall started, appearing suddenly in front of her, "there are such things as stir sticks." He plucked the pen from Mary's hand, frowning as the coffee dripped from the tip. "Stop using my pens."

"How do you know it's your pen?" Marshall turned the writing utensil, showing the now yellowed piece of paper taped to the plastic casing.

"'Property of Marshall Mann,'" he read. Mary shifted her eyes from the pen to Marshall's face.

"That's called 'having too much time on your hands.'"

"What do you have today?" he asked.

"Paperwork."

"No visits?"

"No visits."

"Great," he smiled. "Then you can come with me."

"Wait. Where?"

"To see Robert and Michelle."

"Ugh," Mary whined. "I have my own witnesses with babies, Marshall."

"True. But, I want to see _this _baby and I want some company."

"So take Delia," Mary said, walking away. Marshall lightly grabbed her arm.

"I want _your_ company." Mary looked at the spot where Marshall's fingers wrapped around her arm. Before she could say anything, Marshall let go and brushed past her. "Come on. Grab your coat." Marshall turned to face her, walking backwards towards his desk. "I'll help you with the paperwork and I'll buy you a large coffee, lots of caffeine, no ink," he offered. Mary looked at the mug in her hand, frowned and immediately dumped the liquid into the trashcan.

"Let's go see the baby!" she said happily.

**^m*m^**

_ "And I'll continue to make it on my own. I have to do this without you, Marshall." Mary took a deep breath and dropped her eyes to the dry dirt beneath her feet. "I don't need you anymore. You're free, just like you wanted to be."_

Despite the warmth in the vehicle, Mary tightened her coat around her body. The memory of the cold of that night bit as much as the memory of the words. Four months had passed since she and Marshall had that conversation in the parking lot of an abandoned bar, and hearing the words in her head still burned an empty hole through her heart. As they neared the hospital, Mary felt an unrestrained agony seep from that hole and slowly numb her body. Regardless of the nights she spent desperately trying to convince herself that what she said was truth, deep down she knew it was the biggest lie she had ever told. Uttered to the most important man in her life, those words killed a special part of their friendship, a part he wanted to find again, a part she didn't think they could resurrect.

Dropping her gaze to her lap where her hands rested, Mary considered the last six months. Their relationship had been strained for far longer, but the bulk of their discomfort lied between Marshall's engagement and Abigail's death. Marshall tried to pull closer as Mary pushed away, and Mary tried to pull as Marshall pushed, each wanting to give the other what was needed, but failing due to their discord. They were strangers in unfamiliar waters, too stubborn to admit each needed the other to stay afloat. Fighting, though always a part of their relationship, ceased to strengthen their bond. The fights had become a distorted conglomeration of words that successfully hit their targets, destroying from within, forcefully maintaining the partners' distance.

Mary turned her eyes towards Marshall. His jaw was tight and a slight frown creased his forehead. Mary knew their trip to the hospital was bringing out memories of Abigail's death. More than a month had expired since he lost his wife. Marshall did not speak of Abigail. He didn't offer anything as to how he was feeling or how he was dealing with this tragedy. She wondered if he had cried after Abigail's passing. She wondered how many days he spent seemingly strong to the world, only to have the night and the solitude of his bedroom bring out the sadness, the fear, the hate of the whole situation. She wondered how he made it through those nights and through his days off, alone in his house that no doubt held all too many memories of things past and futures planned. As Mary watched him, she realized with an appalling sickness that she was afraid to ask him.

"Is there something on my face?" Marshall asked. Mary blinked a couple of times and frowned.

"What?" He pulled the SUV into a parking space and turned off the engine.

"Is there something on my face?" he repeated.

"Uh, no. Why?"

"You're staring at me," he answered. "Must be my rugged good looks."

"Yeah, that's it." Mary rolled her eyes at his sly smile as she opened the door. "Let's get going, Doofus."

"Is this Mark's weekend with Norah?" Marshall asked, meeting her near the back of the SUV.

"Yeah. He's picking her up tonight. Why?"

"We should go out." Mary stopped walking and eyed Marshall. He stopped and turned towards her. "We need some time, Mary," he said, stepping closer. "Just us, just to…finish our talk. We need to fix this."

_ "Yeah, Mary." Marshall turned to the aggravated blonde woman, his smile wide on his face. "Let's go to the nursery and see Breindel."_

"_Fine." Mary grabbed his elbow and forcefully led him from the waiting room. "Then you are going home," she said as they rounded the corner into the next hallway. Marshall looked around. Satisfied that they were alone in the corridor, he quickly freed his arm from Mary's grasp. He took both of her wrists, pushed her against the wall and pinned her hands to either side of her head. "Marshall! What the hell!"_

"_What's your problem?" he asked quietly, his face impassive._

"_I don't have a problem," she bit back, trying to free her hands._

_ "Don't fight me," Marshall said, tightening his hold on her wrists. "I'm not letting go." He stepped into her. "I want you to listen, and carefully. I don't know what's been going on with you lately, but I've about had enough." Mary opened her mouth but Marshall stopped her words. "I said listen," he instructed, raising his eyebrows. "Tell me what I did to piss you off." She stared at him, jaw clenched._

_ "You didn't piss me off, Marshall." Mary struggled again against Marshall's restraint, stopping only when she saw a flicker of anger flash across his eyes._

_ "Something's wrong here, Mare," he said tightly. "And I want it fixed."_

_ "Fixed? You want it fixed?" Mary scoffed shaking her head. "If you had any fricken idea of what needed—"_

_ "Marshall, Mary. Hi." Neither turned as Peter walked towards them. Marshall tilted his head slightly to the side; his fingers tightened just a touch around Mary's skin. It was an indication that he was not concerned with being discovered detaining her against the wall. Holding Mary's eyes, he slowly released her hands and backed away from the wall._

Mary caught the hopeful look on Marshall's face, unsure why it scared her.

**^m*m^**

_"What the hell is so damned important that you couldn't tell me at the hospital? Huh?" she bit as Marshall slammed the driver's door. "Why did we have to come out to…to…" Mary looked around, gesturing with raised hands. "Where the __**hell**__ are we?"_

_ "That doesn't matter," Marshall said as he met Mary in front of the car. "Talk to me, Mare."_

_ "I have nothing to say to you, Marshall."_

_ "I'm through fighting with you, Mary. We need to get past this." Marshall stood in front of her, as close as he could be without touching her. "I can't do this without you."_

_ "Do what?"_

_ "Life, Mare. I can't…I don't __**want**__ to do this without you."_

_ "Oh, we are __**so**__ not having this fucking conversation right now." Mary shook her head and brushed past her partner. Marshall's arm snapped from his side, securing itself around her waist. He pulled her back to him, placing her between his body and the vehicle's hood._

_ "We are __**absolutely**__ having this fucking conversation right now." Marshall searched her eyes. He knew better than to classify what he saw in those green orbs as 'fear', but he could not think of another word. "Mare, tell me. What's going on in here?" He raised his hand, fingers grazing her temple._

_ "Don't, Marshall." Mary pushed, forcing him a step backwards. He quickly regained his footing and pushed back. "Marshall, please," she whispered as he leaned his hands on the hood. Tears started to form in her eyes as she looked everywhere but at him._

_ "Don't what, Mary? Why are you so scared?"_

"Mary?" Marshall reached over gently shaking her shoulder. "Are you still with me?"

"Yeah," she answered slowly. "Yeah, sorry. What were you saying?"

"Where'd you go?" he asked curiously. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I just…spaced off."

"Well, quit it. Here." Marshall pushed the plate of cheese-laden nacho chips and the bottle of beer closer to his partner. "Eat, drink and be…Mary" he said with a gesture towards her. "Your silence is rather unnerving. We are, after all, here to talk."

"Yeah. So, what are we talking about?"

"Whatever you'd like," he offered.

"No, no," Mary said, pulling a chip from its gooey confines. "This little shindig was your idea. Start talking." Marshall nodded.

"Fair enough. I want to talk about Kenny." Mary stilled, the chip just an inch from her slightly parted lips, and looked at Marshall. "Start talking," he said smugly, daring an attempt to resurrect some normalcy.

"I don't have anything to say about Kenny," she said, putting the chip back on the plate. "We've already been over that."

"No, we haven't. All you told me was that you were no longer seeing him. I found out about the engagement from Marla in an accidental meeting at the grocery store."

"_I want more from this, Mary. From us. I know we've only been seeing each other for a couple of months, but…" Kenny shrugged. "Can we be more?"_

"I told you it was no big deal," Mary said quietly, dropping the chip onto the plate. Marshall tipped his head to the side.

"It _is _a big deal. Do you know how I know that? The Mary Shannon I know would have plotted a hundred and one ways to hang him by his balls. And, she would have shared said ways. Verbally, that is." He pointed a finger at her. "But, you haven't shared. Which means you haven't plotted."

"I should plot that for you," she mumbled, taking a drink of her beer.

"Please, Mary," Marshall scoffed. "Do we need to have this conversation, again? No one knows you like I do. You should have come to me." He leaned his elbows on the table, fingers pointing towards his chest.

"Really, Marshall? _That _ conversation, again? We don't need to do this," Mary said. "We have the same conversations over and over and I'm done with it. I know you better than anyone, why didn't you come to me, talk about your feelings, Mary," she mocked as she stood, retrieving her coat from the back of the chair. "I don't want to. Enjoy your nachos." Marshall dropped his head with a sigh and pushed the chair back from the table. He had hoped, though he knew better, that this would not have to happen the hard way. He followed her, slamming his palm into the door as he exited the bar.

"How many times are you going to walk away from me, Mary?" he called. Mary was not surprised to hear his voice behind her and she did not turn to face him.

"As many times as it takes, Marshall," she answered, shoving her arms through the coat sleeves.

"You promised me that we would finish our talk, Mary."

"I'm tired of…" Mary trailed off, interrupted by the loud chirp of her cell phone. She removed it from her coat pocket and began reading the message on the screen, lips moving as her eyes roamed the words. Marshall caught the shock on her face and quickly made his way to her side.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said, pushing him away. "I, uh, I have to go."

"Mary." Marshall grabbed her elbow and pulled the cell phone from her hand. "Mary," he scolded. "Come on, I'll take you."

"No. Just go home," she argued, reaching for her phone. "I'm fine. I can go myself." Ignoring her protests, Marshall slipped her phone in his pocket and pulled her across the parking lot to his truck. "Marshall, damn it! Give me the phone!"

"I'm going with you, Mary."

"No, Marshall, you're not." He yanked roughly on the handle as he opened the door.

"Mary, get your ass in the truck."

**^m*m^**

"Oh, Mary!" Brandi cried, running to meet her sister. Mary held out her arms, embracing Brandi in a tight hug.

"Squish, what's going on?" Mary looked to Peter when she failed to answer.

"Your mother was in a car accident on the way home from work," Peter explained.

"An accident?"

"She was hit by a drunk driver. He ran the red light." Peter shrugged sadly. "That's all we know."

"Okay, okay. Squish." Mary pushed Brandi back a step, bending slightly to catch her eyes. "Let's go sit down and just take a minute to calm down, all right?"

"Calm down?"

"Brandi, we don't know what happened. Let's not panic until we have something to panic about." Brandi nodded and turned into her husband's arms as he guided her towards the waiting room.

"Mary." Marshall stood behind her, carefully laying his hands on her shoulders. She tensed under his touch, preparing to send him away. He pushed her gently, urging her to follow Peter and Brandi. "Let's go."

"You need to go home, Marshall."

"Well, that's too bad because I'm not leaving." Mary stopped at the closed doors of the waiting room and turned to Marshall. "I'm…not…leaving," he repeated before she could speak. "I don't care how hard you push, Mare, it's not happening." He slipped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling them together as he rested his forehead on hers. "Please," he whispered. "I should have let you stay with me that night. Let me stay with you now." Mary took a sharp breath, trying to hold back the tears called forth by the pain in Marshall's voice. "I'm here, Mary. Whatever you need, I'm here," he whispered.

"I just lost my father," she said quietly, her anxiety taking control as her hands rested on his arms. "I can't lose my mother, too, Marshall." He wrapped his arms around her waist as she cried. "I can't." Marshall moved them into the waiting room, placing Mary in a chair next to Brandi.

"Are you family of Ginger Shannon?" Doctor Andersen asked as he entered the room.

"Yes," Brandi answered, jumping to her feet. "How's our mom?"

"She is going to be fine," he assured them with a friendly smile. "Ms. Shannon has a hairline fracture of the left ulna and a few cuts from the broken glass. She also has quite the goose egg on her head. She didn't lose consciousness and she is coherent, but I'd like to keep her overnight for observation. Just in case."

"That's it?" Mary asked. "Not that I want it to be more, but…"

"Well, your mother was lucky. And, there's something to be said for airbags and seat belts," Dr. Andersen shrugged.

"Can we see her?" Brandi asked, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Absolutely, but, it will have to be a quick one. We have her on some pain medication. She'll probably conk out in a bit." Brandi looked at Mary expectantly.

"Go, Squish," Mary nodded. Brandi hugged her sister tightly then followed Peter and the doctor into the hallway. "Marshall-"

"Don't, Mary. Let's just go see your mother." Marshall took Mary's hand and led her through the hallway. She wondered how long it had been since she let a man hold her hand. She wondered if that time had felt as natural as the present occurrence. As they approached Jinx's room, Mary was surprised to see Brandi and Peter leaving the room.

"Mary, Mom's almost asleep," Brandi whispered. "You should go say 'hi'."

"Yeah. Are you…are you all right, Squish?" Brandi nodded through a fresh string of tears.

"I just…I don't want to lose her."

"She's going to be fine. You heard the doctor." Mary put her hands on Brandi's shoulders. "Go home, try to get some sleep, okay?"

"Okay." Mary slipped inside Jinx's room as Brandi and Peter headed towards the hospital's exit. Mary immediately found the angry, dark red mark along Jinx's left tempt, a sobering realization of what could have been a much more painful reality.

"Hey, Mom." Mary sat carefully on the edge of the hospital bed, gently taking the hand of Jinx's uninjured arm.

"Oh, Mary. I'm so sorry to get all of you so worried," Jinx said sadly.

"Mom, don't apologize. This was not your fault."

"I know. I just…" She ran a hand over her forehead. "How's the-the other driver?"

"He's a little worse for the wear, but he'll be fine." Jinx nodded. "Until I get a hold of him," Mary added.

"Mary, don't you dare…"

"I was joking, Mother." She rubbed the back of Jinx's hand. "Tired?" she asked.

"I have a lot of excitement over the last two hours," she laughed softly.

"Yeah. Try to get some sleep, Mom," she said, repeating the advice she had given Brandi. "I'll be back in the morning. Maybe we can go out for breakfast. If you're up to it."

"Oh, thank you, but Brandi and Peter are going to pick me up."

"Okay," Mary nodded. "We'll do breakfast a different day. I'll stop by around lunch time, see how you're doing." Jinx smiled weakly and closed her eyes.

"I love you, Mary," she mumbled as she fell asleep. "Don't ever forget that."

"I love you, too, Mom." Mary gently placed Jinx's arm over her lap and leaned forward to kiss her mother's forehead before leaving the room.

"How is she?" Marshall asked as she came into the hallway.

"Down for the count." Mary stopped in front of Marshall, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets and dropping her eyes.

"How about a ride home?" he offered.

"Marshall…thank you," she said, still looking at the floor. He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, walking slowly by her side as they wandered through the hallway, making to leave the hospital.

"The ulna," he stated, "also known as the 'elbow bone', is the longest of the bones in the forearm. It runs from the elbow to the wrist, on the medial side of the arm, the side on which the little finger is located," he said, holding his little finger in the air for show. Mary groaned and dropped her head to hide a grateful, teary smile. Trivia about the ulna was not what she wanted to hear, but it was exactly what she needed.


	10. Chapter 10

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Ten**

"So." Brandi took a seat next to Mary, handing her a glass of ice water. "Marshall came to the hospital last night." Peter crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, knowing where Brandi was headed with the conversation.

"Yeah. So what?"

"Why?" Brandi asked, taking a bite of her rice cake.

"He was with me when I got your text." Mary grabbed a napkin from the holder in the middle of the table and wiped the condensation from the outside of the glass as she studied the look on her sister's face. "He was there as a friend, Brandi."

"He was holding your hand, Mary."

"He was trying to be comforting, Brandi." Both women turned their attention towards the living room when a small wail of need wafted through the air.

"Don't think Breindel is getting you out of this conversation," Brandi said as she stood. "To be continued." Peter waited until she was out of the room before claiming her chair.

"Sweet Jesus," Mary muttered. "Continued by you? Right?"

"For a few minutes," he shrugged.

"I don't know what's wrong with the two of you."

"Well, I think the more appropriate question here is 'what's wrong with you'."

"There is no couch in the world strong enough for the duration of that visit," she informed him.

"Mary, there is nothing wrong with you," Peter laughed. "Your sister is just concerned about you. She has been for quite some time now." He proceeded carefully. "Since she heard about Marshall's engagement." Mary rolled her eyes. "Just think about it. Honestly, Mary, you're not being very fair to yourself if you don't figure it out. Someday you might have the revelation, and it might be too late." Mary sat back in the chair, her arms stretched and resting on the table.

_ "Squish, listen," Mary said once they were alone. "I don't mean to keep harping on you about this." Brandi shot Mary a disbelieving roll of her eyes. "Seriously, Squish. I think you should tell the father." She pointed her fork towards Brandi's stomach._

_ "Mary, I don't know if—"_

_ "Brandi, I just don't want you to miss out on something that could be so right for you."_

_ "Right for me? You don't even know who the father is." Mary gave her sister a blank look._

_ "You may be able to fool everyone else, Squish, but I'm a U.S. marshal. I see all." Mary's eyes widened and she made an exaggerated encompassing motion with her hands. "Plus, I can do the math." Brandi smiled, but sadly. "You're due in the middle of November. Minus nine months…Your fiancé knocked you up right before your wedding." Mary's fingers curled in the air, making mock quotations._

_ "I don't want to tell him, Mary. What if…What if he hates me for this?"_

_ "I don't think Peter is capable of hating you for any reason. Jesus, there were practically red hearts floating over his head when he was around you." Mary wiggled her fingers about her head. "I'll go with you, if you want me to go. Brandi…" Mary leaned across the table and took her hand. "Don't let something so good just slip away." Brandi felt the tears slip from her eyes. She didn't know if she was crying for herself or for her sister, whose face clearly bore the pain of the mistake she willed Brandi not to make._

_ "Mary, I see things, too, you know." Mary straightened and started to pull her hand from Brandi's. "Don't," Brandi said, gently squeezing Mary's fingers. "That's all I'm going to say about it. I'll never bring it up again. I just, you know." Mary nodded and relaxed a little. Both women relinquished their hold on each other and returned to eating their meals. _

Peter leaned his elbows on the table and laced his fingers. "So spill." Mary kept her eyes on Peter, begging herself not to start the conversation.

"Marshall asked for some space," she explained, despite her own protests. Her fingers nervously rolled the corner of her napkin. "He said he couldn't worry about coming to my rescue all of the time because he would choose doing so over spending time with Abigail." Peter raised an eyebrow. "Well, he wasn't that crude about it."

"And, what did you say?"

"I said 'okay'." Mary focused her attention on the napkin. "I said I wanted nothing more than for him to be happy. Abigail was a good person, she loved Marshall and he deserved that love." She was silent for a moment. Peter waited patiently for her to continue. "I tried, I really did," she said quietly. Mary sighed. "I've never had to do this before. There have never been rules with Marshall. I've never had to watch my mouth or my step and neither has he. We just…it's just how we are. How we _were._"

"Then, it all went to hell somehow," he prodded.

"I backed off, but, too far. I came off as a bitch and that made Marshall angry. That's when the fighting started."

"The night Breindel was born…" Peter started.

"Part of the fight," she nodded. "He wants to fix things and I just don't know if that's possible. I feel like going back to the way things were is a betrayal to Abigail. It just feels wrong."

"Mary." Peter moved towards the edge of his chair, placing his hand over Mary's. "Your friendship is not going to erase Abigail. Her death was an accident and, certainly not brought by the situation between you and Marshall." He pulled his hand away, knowing not to let such personal contact last too long. "Have you ever thought about _why_ this…transition between you and Marshall was so difficult for you?" Mary frowned. "Or why rebuilding the friendship feels like betrayal?"

"Peter," she whined.

"Listen. You tried to change your relationship, make it more professional and negate the personal aspect." Mary nodded. "Why? Did Marshall ask you to change that?" Mary shook her head.

"I stopped talking to him about Norah and anything else we would normally discuss. I thought cutting that out of our lives would keep us from having an excuse to call each other." Peter watched her for a moment.

"So _you_ initiated the change. You, Mary Shannon…changed."

"It's the definition of 'ironic', isn't it?" she laughed softly. "I changed. I changed for the one person who has never and would never ask me to do so." He let Mary absorb her words.

_"You know, it's weird," Mary said before taking a long drink of the cheaply-priced beer._

_ "What's weird?" Marshall asked._

_ "You."_

_ "Am I to take that as a compliment?"_

_ "That's not what I meant." She stayed quiet, peeling the corner of the label off the bottle. "I trust you."_

_ "I would hope so," Marshall said lightly. "I am, after all, your partner, Partner."_

_ "No." Mary turned in bar stool squarely facing him. "I mean I __**trust**__ you. I've never trusted anyone before. Past partners, friends, family…no one." Mary turned back to the label. "I can be myself around you. I-I don't feel like I have to hide or like I'm being forced to alter who I am or-or what I think. You seem to understand me." Mary looked at him again. "Understand me like you've known me for years." She was frightened by her admission, yet, at the same time, comforted by the thought that before her stood a man who would never hurt her. Mary wasn't sure of the reasoning behind the notion, but the feeling was too powerful to overlook._

_ "So," Marshall said, holding his bottle in the air between them. "To friendship." That word did not do her thoughts justice. She looked away, taking a breath as she searched her mind for another way to say it. As Mary looked back at Marshall, he offered her a gentle smile. She didn't need to explain further, he understood. His eyes reciprocated her thoughts with a look all too correct by entirely indefinable. She lifted her bottle, touching its neck to that of Marshall's bottle. "To friendship," she smiled._

"What, exactly, do you mean by 'betrayal'? Did Abigail…did _she_ ask for the separation?"

"Not…well…kind of. But, not that way," she finished quickly. "She didn't mean to the extent it's become."

"Rebuilding your friendship means Marshall going back on a promise he made to Abigail," Peter nodded as he tried to put together the pieces Mary was offering. "But, if she didn't mean it _that_ way, how do you define it as betrayal?" Mary frowned. "Maybe it's something on more of a personal level with _you_ that makes you believe you're betraying Marshall's wife."

"You know, I liked life a lot more before you and Tweedle-Dee started putting this idea in my head."

"It's always been in your head, Mary," Peter smiled.

"Oh, you're-you're very clever, Peter," Mary laughed as she straightened in her chair. "I get, I get. I'm in love with Marshall, and, instead of giving him space, I let him go completely so I wouldn't have to admit that to myself. And, I feel like I'm betraying Abigail because now that she's gone I have a chance to swoop in and jump him. Right? That's what all of this is, yeah?"

"Mary, not exactly…No. But…" Peter sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Has anyone ever told you that you are a stubborn woman?"

"It's come up before," she smiled. "Look, I care about Marshall. I want him to be happy. But, that does not mean that I'm in love with him."

"Okay," he conceded. "But, the friendship deal…" Mary's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, we need to work on that." Brandi sat in a chair across the table from Mary, Breindel's head on her shoulder.

"Let him in, Mary. You have to start talking again," Peter said. "I have the perfect thing to get the conversation started."

"What?" Mary asked as he and Brandi exchanged smiles.

**^m*m^**

For the better part of forty-five minutes, Mary stood in her kitchen, hip against the counter, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. She stared across the room to her phone, silent from its place on the table. She knew she needed to take the phone's slim form in her hands and call her partner. She was wrong to push Marshall so far away. Marshall was wrong to do the same. And, though they both apologized to each other, Mary's stubborn fear prevented the healing that needed to follow. It was always her fear that stood in the way. Her fear of Marshall hurting her changed them. Her fear of losing him pushed them apart. Her fear of being in the way of his life with Abigail filled the gap, preventing any sort of closure. Her fear of having already lost him kept her best friend a world away when he was hurting.

'Fear' was not word Mary used often. 'Fear' was 'weakness', a 'challenge' to face head-on; an aspect of life that served to strengthen one's character. But, the fear she felt where Marshall was concerned remained fear. It remained the one thing she believed could tear her apart. The thought of facing those fears scared her more. Since their return from Amarillo, Mary had made it very clear she wasn't willing to share anything with Marshall. What if he rejected her attempt to reconcile? What if he accepted it, but they couldn't make it work? What if she screwed it up, again?

Mary sank to the floor and ran a hand through her hair. Too many 'what ifs'.

**^m*m^**

Marshall shook the can a lemon scented furniture polish and sprayed the contents over the wooden end table. After wiping the surface with a paper towel, he turned over the towel and frowned. The wet handprint sported no dust and he found himself oddly disappointed. Cleaning the house had become quite the habit since Abigail's death, a seemingly useful and sensible occupation of the quiet. But, he was beginning to understand that it was turning into more of an obsession of avoidance. He set the can and the towel on the coffee table and moved to the bookcase. Marshall's finger roamed the book spines on the shelf at eye level. He selected a collection of poems by Christopher Marlowe. As he made his way to the sofa, he noticed a small strip of a pink bookmark peeking from the pages. Sitting, he opened the book and sifted through the pages to find the bookmark.

"'The Passionate Shepard to His Love'," he read with a sad smile. His fingers traced the raised heart forms along the outline of the bookmark.

_"Oh! I love this one!" Abigail snuggled closer to Marshall. "I had to do a report on Christopher Marlowe when I was in high school." She held the book so Marshall could see the pages and closed her eyes as she recited the poem. 'Come live with me and be my love…And we shall all the pleasures prove…That hills and valleys, dale and…and…" Abigail frowned as Marshall laughed. "And something else," she said. "Anyway, 'come live with me and be my love,'" she finished excitedly. Marshall snaked his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss._

_ "Deal."_

Marshall closed the book, gently tossing it to the far end of the sofa. Everything he looked at, everything he touched, everything he heard reminded him of Abigail. It was, at most times, entirely overwhelming. Marshall had spoken to his father several times in the past weeks, as promised, and though it was a great support, Marshall was still having trouble reestablishing a routine. He had always had his job to ground his days, but there was more to his life. Before he met Abigail, he and Mary frequented a few local bars, an excuse to blow off steam and be outside of the office. After he met Abigail, had had Monday night, the two never missing an opportunity for a romantic night out. And, usually twice a week, they went out with other couples, friends and co-workers of Abigail's. He hadn't spoken to those friends since the funeral. He didn't blame any of them for the break in contact. Marshall didn't know them well, and since Abigail was their only connection, he knew it was as awkward for them to speak to him as it was for him to initiate a conversation. And, any personal time he'd once shared with Mary…

Now, Marshall simply had his job. He loved the job and was proud of the work he did. But, the rift between him and Mary made some days hard to start.

_ "So, Mary made the ultimate sacrifice for you," Seth nodded his understanding. "How did it become so…" he shrugged, unable to find the right word._

_ "I don't know." Marshall shook his head. "No, that's a lie. I do know." He stayed silent, staring again at the floor._

_ "__**What**__ happened?" Seth prodded._

_ "I think Mary and I have so harshly reached an impasse..." Marshall quieted. "It doesn't matter," he dismissed. _

_ "Son, everything matters."_

_ "We changed. __**I**__ made her change," Marshall said, reluctantly. Seth laughed._

"_Marshall, I don't think __**anyone**__ can __**make**__ Mary change." Marshall offered a small smile._

"_What we were, ceased to exist," he continued. Seth's brow furrowed in curiosity._

_ "What you were," Seth repeated. "And, what was that?" he asked, certain he already knew the answer. Marshall ran a hand through his hair. One word scratched at the back of Marshall's mind, begging for liberation. "Marshall," Seth started at his son's silence. "There are…relationships in our lives that never fade. They are the ones in which we experience the worst and the best of ourselves. Nothing can change those relationships except our own stubbornness."_

Marshall had no desire to hurt Mary any more than he already had. He didn't want to be angry with her anymore. Her blatant refusal to speak with him tore his heart. He needed her, needed his best friend now more than ever, but he would sacrifice his needs if it meant sparing Mary of any more discomfort. Marshall was able to get her talking, for a bit, in that dusty gas station parking lot. Knowing her as he did, he would not be able to do so again. He could only hope that she would change her mind and reach out to him. Oscar moaned a soft growl from his place under the kitchen table, pulling Marshall's attention from his partner.

"What's up, Oscar?" Marshall walked into the kitchen, kneeling on the floor to pet the dog's head. "What's going on, Boy?" Oscar offered nothing, simply perking his ears as he heard a second buzz from Marshall's cell phone. Marshall frowned and stood, reaching for the phone he had carelessly pitched on the kitchen table earlier that afternoon. "It's Mary," he said absently. He looked at the display, humming thoughtfully as he read the message.

_"Brandi and Peter are engaged. Again. I'll get the pizza; you bring the beer so we can celebrate."_

"Five…four…three…two…one…" On cue, the phone buzzed again.

_"Better yet. You bring the pizza, too. Then I don't have to tip the delivery man."_ Marshall smiled and shook his head.

"That's my girl."

**^m*m^**

"Beer and pizza delivered," Marshall said as Mary opened the door. He stepped inside, handing Mary the pizza box.

"Oh, you got my message," she said, smile wide. Marshall laughed and followed her into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, placing all but two bottles inside.

"How is Mom?" he asked, twisting the top off the bottles.

"She's good, she's good. She's going to try to go back to work on Monday." Mary placed the box on the kitchen table and grabbed a handful of napkins.

"Um, that's kind of soon, isn't it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "There are a few moms coming in to help her over the next two weeks. She won't have to do anything but watch the students. The moms can demonstrate the dance moves." Marshall nodded as he listened.

"And, Brandi and Peter, huh?" he said slowly.

"Yeah," Mary smiled softly. "I'm…I'm happy for them." The two stood quietly on opposite sides of the table, Mary staring at the floor, Marshall watching her. He took a slow breath, moving closer to her.

"Just ask, Mary." He handed her a bottle. She looked at him, his permission drawing her courage to start the painful conversation.

"H-how are you doing?" He held her eyes for a moment before speaking.

"I'm fine," he tried unconvincingly to assure her. "I'll be all right. Eventually." Marshall fidgeted with the bottle in his hands. "How are you? With the whole…Kenny thing?"

"Pissed," she admitted. "It hurt. It still does." She saw a single tear fall from the corner of his eye.

"Marshall," she said, her own tears falling. He took her bottle, setting both next to the pizza box on the table.

"Come here." They moved towards each other, Marshall wrapping his arm around Mary's shoulders as hers found his waist.

"I'm so sorry, Marshall." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I wish there was something I could have done." She looked up at him. "I shouldn't have let you walk out of the hospital that night. I-I should have followed you. I should have been there for you."

"You were," he whispered. "I should have let you stay." His arms tightened around her. "We're here now, Mare. That's all that matters."

"Talk to me." She settled her head on his shoulder again. "Tell me what…tell me what happened." Mary felt his body relax slightly as he took a moment before speaking.

"Abigail had…a hot head newbie. Her team was waiting for back up, waiting to raid the house. He didn't want to wait. He went in and Abigail went in after him." Marshall stopped speaking and Mary took her turn to tighten her arms around him. "I think you know the rest," he continued quietly. "I saw you at the cemetery. The flowers were beautiful. What you said…" Mary tried to back away, slightly embarrassed, but Marshall kept her in place, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I pushed you. I didn't want to, but I did. I was angry with you for…for this stupid change that happened between us. I know it wasn't your fault, Mary."

"Neither one of us handled that very well, did we?"

"No." Marshall eased her back a step, wanting, needing to see her face. "I need us back, Mare. I need that…" He laughed. "That _normalcy_ in my life." Mary smiled.

"Don't say 'normalcy'."

"Whatever it takes," he said, taking her hands. "I'll talk about anything. I'll do anything to get us back." Mary felt the warmth of Marshall's hands slowly melt the cold tendrils of fear that had been holding her for far too long. Between them, the fear dissipated, leaving the challenge in its wake. It was time for the walls to come down. It was time to redefine, correctly, a once-strong friendship; time to re-establish the dependency they allowed one another. It was time to shovel aside the pride, the pain, the sadness, the nightmares of the last three years and find 'Mary and Marshall.'

"Yeah," Mary nodded slowly. "Whatever it takes."

**^m*m^**

Stan stepped off the elevator, whistling as he made his way to the glass doors of the WITSEC office. His morning started in the most pleasant of ways as he spent a little quality time with Lia. And, his meetings with the DOJ had been painless and inconsequential. He swiped his identification card and waiting for the click of the locks before opening the door. Stopping at the corner of Marshall's desk, Stan took a moment to admire the sun, warm and bright through the near floor-to-ceiling windows. It was a sign that spring was in full force, guiding and shaping the new life around him.

A quick survey of the room settled Stan's attention on his inspectors, sitting at the table in the conference room. Spring seemed to have breathed new life into the pair, as well. The previous four weeks bore a great change between the partners. Mary and Marshall were speaking to each other, again. Though not quite to par, Stan saw the positive change for what it was – a step towards healing. It strengthened his willingness to believe all might just be right with the world again.

With a deep breath and a content sigh, Stan slipped his hands into his pants pockets and smiled as he moved towards his office. Nothing was going to spoil his good mood.

"Give it back, Mary!" Stan stopped in the doorway and turned towards the sound of Marshall's voice.

"No way!" Mary returned. Stan took a few steps forward and watched through the glass wall of the conference room as Marshall chased Mary around the table. She pulled out several chairs, hoping to trip Marshall in her wake, but he gracefully dodged each one.

"Mary!" She opened the door of the conference room and headed towards the kitchenette.

"Do you want some coffee or not, Marshall?" she called.

"I want my pen back," he answered, taking his turn to emerge from the room. Mary smiled widely as she placed a black coffee mug on the countertop.

"With or without cream?" She reached for the coffee pot.

"Mary." Stan watched Marshall's muscles tense with the warning, readying an attack as she poured the coffee. Mary returned to pot to the coffee maker. She poured a healthy amount of creamer into the mug and poised the pen over the rim. Marshall jumped from his position, resuming his chase. Mary ran towards Stan.

"Hey, Stan," she as she came to a sudden halt behind him, placing her hands on his arms. "How was your meeting?"

"Wonderful," he answered. Marshall stopped in front of Stan.

"Hey, Chief. Anything to pass on from the meetings?"

"Nope. Same old, same old."

"Ah, good news, then," Marshall nodded. Stan stood still as his marshals bobbed back and forth around him, each trying to figure out a way around Mary's human shield.

"Any…problems this morning?" he asked.

"None, Chief," Mary answered.

"Except Mary," Marshall amended. "But, then, when is she not?" he smiled.

"Oh, you're a funny man now? Stan, tell Chevy Chase over here to get back to work."

"May I suggest you both get back to work?"

"You may," Mary said. "But, let's face it. That's not going to happen." Stan caught Marshall's eye, needing only a well-placed rise of his eyebrows to convey his words. Marshall took a step back, silently acknowledging Stan. Mary looked over Stan's shoulder as she noticed Marshall's movement. "Oh, that's right," she laughed. "Time to back down, Marshall. Did you-did you get the look?" she asked excitedly. "Did you give him the look, Chief?" Stan answered Mary's question by stepping to the side, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. "Shit!" she spat. Marshall moved quickly, snagging Mary with an arm around her waist before she was able to run away. Stan shook his head, watching with an amusement he would not admit to the marshals, as Marshall snatched his pen from Mary's hand and dragged her back to the conference room.

Marshall opened the door and, with an arm still around Mary's waist, guided her into the room.

"That was a lot of not fair, Marshall," she said, wiggling her way out of his grasp. "Stan can't pick sides."

"Maybe you shouldn't have been snotty," he suggested, slipping the pen into the inside pocket of his suit coat. Mary crossed her arms.

"I was _not_ snotty."

"_You may, but that's not going to happen,_" he mocked.

"Well, it wasn't," Mary defended. "You know," she started, slowly stepping closer. Marshall watched her carefully; weary of the sweet smile on her lips. Her fingers found the collar of his coat, deftly working their way down the lapels. "I never did get my coffee." The words quickly left her mouth as pulled the pen from his pocket. Marshall, prepared for her actions, allowed her to take the writing utensil. His fingers closed around the wrist of her empty hand as his arm circled her waist and he used his body to push her back against the edge of the table.

"You may get your coffee," he said quietly. "But, you are not leaving this room with my pen." Momentarily distracted by the nature of Marshall's hold, Mary recovered with a smirk.

"Fine," she said. "Fine. You can have your damned pen. It's not like I don't know where the rest are," she threatened.

"Oh, did you guess bottom drawer of Stan's desk?" he asked, returning her smirk.

"You know what, Marshall? You're a real bastard."

"And, so proud of it," he smiled. Mary grumbled and tried to pull her wrist from Marshall's hand.

"Let me go, Jackass."

"No," he said, eyes narrowed. "I don't know if I trust you enough to let you roam free."


	11. Chapter 11

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Eleven**

_"I don't know if I trust you enough to let you roam free."_

_ "Marshall," Mary warned. With her fingers firmly in place around his pen, Mary pushed the back of her hand into his chest in an effort to pry their bodies apart. Marshall's arm tightened around her waist in response._

_ "What?" he goaded. "I said you could get your coffee. Just drop the pen."_

_ "No. I got a hold of it fair and square. __**Both**__ times." She tried again to pull her hand from Marshall's grip. "It's mine now." He moved their hands to rest against his chest._

_ "All right," he yielded. "The pen is yours. But, __**you**__ are __**mine**__." Mary stopped her struggling and eyed Marshall carefully. She knew exactly what he was doing, using her as a bargaining chip in reclaiming his pen. However, the way the words so softly left his mouth made her question the validity of his eagerness to exchange. She quickly re-assessed her situation. With the backs of her hips still pressed against the table and Marshall blocking any sideways or forward movement on her part, he had her effectively cornered. She could push against him all she wanted, but, Marshall was stronger and Mary knew she wouldn't break free unless he allowed it to happen. Her other option was to relinquish the pen. Mary growled inwardly. She hated giving up, especially when giving up meant a win for Marshall. She bit her bottom lip. Maybe her only way out was to play along._

_ "Well," she shrugged. "Then, I guess I'm yours." Mary lifted the hand holding the pen, draping her arm around the back of Marshall's neck. She kept a straight face as a hint of concession flickered across his eyes. It was not enough of a break in his attention, though, and Mary lost the opportunity to escape. Marshall released her hand, moving to brush her hair over her shoulder._

_ "I can stay like this all day, Mare," he said quietly, his face betraying no game. He tightened both arms around her waist and adjusted his stance to dissolve the very little bit of space between them. "Can you?"_

"Roam free," Mary mumbled as she set a handful of Cheerios on the tray of Norah's highchair. "What was that all about, Bug?" she asked, taking a seat at the table.

"Om-nom," Norah said. Mary watched as Norah shoved a fistful of Cheerios into her mouth. She extended her hand, offering the Cheerio stuck to her little wet fingers.

"No thanks. Mommy's good." Mary sighed and leaned an elbow on the table, resting her temple on a fist. "It's not like this is the first time I've taken something of Marshall's," she explained. "I steal his stuff all of the time. Well, I used to, anyway. And, we've fought about it _plenty_ of times before. But…I don't know." Mary sighed. "Seriously, did he think he was going scare me away? Geez, Bug, if Stan hadn't walked into the room, who knows how long we would have been standing there. I know _I_ wasn't going to back down." Mary placed another handful of Cheerios on Norah's tray and stood. "We talked about this a month ago." She closed the box and stuffed it into the pantry. "We were supposed to take it easy. I want nothing more than to get back to as normal as Marshall and I can get…" Mary took a deep breath and dropped into her chair.

"_This is different," Marshall said._

_ "Yeah." Mary, sitting on the edge of the cushion, leaned her elbows on her knees and played with the empty bottle in her hands._

_ "We've never had boundaries before." Taking the last drink of his beer, Marshall set the bottle on the coffee table and copied Mary's position. She shook her head and looked at him._

_ "What did you call it?" She feigned a thoughtful look. "Owning a pied-a-terre in each other's heads?"_

_ "Don't say 'pied-a-terre'," he joked, leaning a shoulder into hers. "It's not right hearing those words come out of your mouth." She smiled and pushed into his arm._

_ "We have to take this slowly, Marshall," she said quietly. "I don't want to quick-fix this and have something bite us in the ass four months down the road." Marshall nodded._

_ "We'll go slowly." He met her eyes, steady in holding her gaze._

There had been no transition between them. At that moment, the switch flipped and Mary and Marshall were, again, "Mary and Marshall." She shook her head and smiled sadly. "Let's hope we're doing this the right way."

"Doing what the right way?" Mary jumped, startled by the voice next to her.

"Jesus, Mark, don't scare me like that," she said, reaching a hand through the air to smack him.

"Hey," he laughed. "Sorry. I thought you heard me come in." He leaned over the high chair, kissing Norah's head, then took a seat at the table. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm just…thinking."

"About what?" Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing," she answered.

"Nothing. You know, you've been doing that a lot lately," Mark teased. "'Nothing' must be pretty darned interesting."

"It's just work, Mark. That's all." Mary stood, moving to the kitchen counter to grab her keys. "I have to get going. I have a meeting this morning. Can you lock up on your way out?"

"Sure."

"Thanks. Norah's stuff is by the door. She's all packed up and ready to go." Mary kissed her daughter's cheek. "Gonna miss you, Bug."

"Ma-ma-ma-ma."

"That's right," Mark smiled. "Mama."

"Come on, Mark. She's just making noise."

"No, she's not. Norah, who's that?" he asked, pointing to Mary.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma," she answered.

"See?"

"Do you think that's real?" Mary smiled. "Is that's really what she's saying?"

"I think it is."

"Well, how about that." Mary gave her daughter one last kiss. "Now, don't make her say it too much when she's at your house this weekend. I want her to say it a bunch when _I_ can hear it."

"Mary, before you go can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah." Mark stood, meeting Mary on her side of the table.

"There's this…there's this woman I've been seeing for, oh, about five months now. I would like to introduce her to Norah." Mary stared blankly at Mark. "That is, if it's all right with you."

**^m*m^**

"Anna Campbell?" Marshall asked, handing Mary the papers from the printer. "Who's that?"

"Mark's latest fling," she answered.

"Fling?" He sat in the chair next to Mary's desk and nodded. "That's why you're running a background check on her."

"Not a fling," she amended. "Maybe it's a little more serious than that."

"_That's_ why you're running a background check on her."

"Mark would like to introduce her to Norah."

"So, it's an 'all of the above' kind of thing?" Mary shrugged. "Are you going to do this every time Mark meets a woman?"

"No," she lied.

"What about when Norah is old enough to make friends?"

"What about it?"

"I see an extreme overuse of the printer in your future."

"What? What the hell does that even mean?"

"Are you going to run a check on all of Norah's friends, too? Their parents? Her teachers?"

"No," Mary scoffed. "Why would I do that?"

"So, no more background checks?"

"I'll only do it on the people I don't like," she vowed.

"Which would be…"

"Everyone." Mary looked over the papers in her hands. "Wouldn't you know…Clean as a whistle." She shoved the papers aside. "Not even a parking ticket."

"Aww," Marshall pouted. "Super Mary thwarted again by the noble deeds of yet another good citizen."

"Don't say 'thwarted'. Or 'noble' or 'citizen'." Mary tilted her head. "Or any of what you just said, really. Anyway, have you read the file on the new witnesses?"

"I have," Marshall nodded.

"Is this right? This has to be a typo." She handed Marshall the file folder and pointed to a section of the paper.

"That is no typo." He handed the folder back to her. "They have twelve children."

"Wow. Twelve." Marshall snickered. "What's so funny?"

"I'm just picturing you as a mother of twelve," he smiled.

"Please," Mary said, rolling her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I love my Bug, but _twelve_?" She patted her hip. "My days of posing for the Playboy calendar would be over." Marshall raised an eyebrow, his eyes purposely scoping her body.

"Interesting. And…what month are you?"

"The Month of Mayhem, Pervus."

"Nice."

**^m*m^**

"Do you have any questions for us?" Marshall asked, closing his copy of the WITSEC rules and regulations.

"Uh, just, just one," Jonathon said. "What will we do for housing until the trail?"

"For now, we have a wing reserved for your family at a local motel. It's not the spacious home you had in Tulsa," Marshall shrugged. "But, at least we can keep everyone together and secure."

"There are two entrances to that part of the motel. We'll have agents posted inside and outside of both," Mary added. "Plus a detail in the parking lot." Jonathon nodded and took his wife's hand.

"As long as we're together," Barbara said. "That's all that matters."

"The trial is scheduled for next week on Friday. After that you'll be relocated and your new marshals will be able to help you find a decent place to live." Mary slid her notepad and pen across the table. "Can you make me a…a grocery list? Any food or toiletries you'll need for the week." Barbara smiled and nodded.

"Mary and I have a few things to put together and when you're ready, we can go." The two stood, Mary following Marshall out of the conference room. Marshall found Delia amongst a myriad of little bodies and nodded.

"Okay, kids," she smiled. "Let's grab our drinks and our chips and head into the other room by Mom and Dad." The children cheered. They grabbed their snacks and lined up, single-file, before quietly proceeding into the conference room. Delia followed from the end of the line, stopping to offer the inspectors a large smile. "Piece of cake!" she whispered.

"So, who's doing the grocery shopping?" Marshall asked as they walked to Stan's office.

"Oh, Delia and I are going to after we get the family settled. Did you want to come, too?" she teased.

"Uh, no. I know how much you love a list. Far be it for me to take that away from you," he said with a slight bow.

"Mary. Marshall," Stan greeted as they entered the office. "They agents are lined up; the motel is secure." He reached into the top drawer of his desk, retrieving a key. "Who's driving the van?"

"I will," Marshall answered, taking the key.

"How are they doing?"

"They're scared," Mary shrugged. "But, they don't seem to have any concerns other than being together." Stan nodded.

"All right. Do you need anything?" The inspectors shook their heads. "Okay, off with you then," Stan smiled.

**^m*m^**

"Well," Mary started, setting Barbara's suitcase on the bed. "This is it." Barbara smiled softly.

"Don't say it like that," she scolded lightly. "This is perfect."

"I'm sorry we weren't able to make other arrangements for you." Mary's eyes wondered over the drab colors that decorated the stale-smelling room.

"It's fine. We're safe, we're together." She set her purse next to the suitcase and crossed her arms. "You know, when we left Tulsa, we had to be split up. I was in a motel with six children, one room, mind you," she said with a small smile. "Jonathon was in a motel with the other six children, an hour and a half away. We couldn't call each other. The agents told me it was too much of a security risk." She approached Mary, gently laying her hands on Mary's shoulders. "What you have done for us…for this week to be in the same place…It's really a blessing."

"Since you think that, don't order room service," Mary smiled. "The food here is worse than hospital food." Barbara laughed and hugged Mary. "Marshall and I will stop by on Monday to see how things are going. If you need anything in the meantime, the agents posted by the doors can get it for you. If they're not helpful, you grab the cell phone I gave you and call me. Okay?"

"All right." The women turned towards the doorway as Jonathon and Marshall entered.

"Ladies," Marshall greeted. "We have the children and their luggage sorted. Everyone seems to be in agreement that it is nap time."

"It's been a long day of travel for them," Jonathon smiled.

"Is there anything else we can do before we go?"

"No, no, we're fine. Thank you."

"All right," Mary smiled. "Delia and I will be back in a bit with some groceries." The marshals said their good-byes and left the motel. Marshall slipped his arm around Mary's shoulders as they walked to the van.

"Just imagine it, Mare." He swept his hand through the air, framing the invisible picture. "Twelve, blonde-haired little girls, all—Hey!" Marshall moved his hand to his ribs, gently rubbing the place Mary poked.

"Keep it up," she said, removing his arm from her shoulders. "You'll be seeing twelve of _me_ by the time I get done beating your ass."

"I would hope, for everyone's sake, that they don't inherit your winning abrasiveness."

"My winning abrasiveness," she mocked. "Whatever. You're just jealous because you can't be as big of a bitch as I can." Mary curled her fingers around the handle of the passenger door and gave Marshall a pointed look. He nodded.

"You're right. I can't be." Heading to the driver's side of the van, he used the key instead of the remote lock to unlock the door. Once inside the vehicle, he closed the door and looked out the passenger window at Mary, offering a large smile.

"You son of a bitch!" she yelled, pounding on the window. "Let me in!"

**^m*m^**

"Wow. Can you imagine how much fun it would be to have that many kids?" Delia smiled from the passenger seat of the SUV.

"I don't know if 'fun' is the word I would use." Delia sighed softly.

"I'm the sixth of eight children. I always wanted to have a big family of my own." Mary stopped the vehicle at the red light and turned to look at Delia. She stared out the passenger window with a sad smile on her face. "I was married once. A _long_ time ago," she laughed. "Richard and I…we wanted to start a family right away. We tried. It took two years before we conceived. Then, I lost the baby." She turned to Mary. "Turns out, children were not in my future."

"I'm sorry," Mary said quietly. "I didn't know."

"Oh, it's all right. My life took a different path and I am happy where I am." She smiled. "Anyway, I get to live vicariously through people like my brothers and sisters…and a fellow inspector…that have children." She playfully touched a fist to Mary's arm.

"Well, hey, anytime you want to come over and watch Norah, get up in the middle of the night, wipe the drool off her chin, change the diapers, you're more than welcome." Delia offered a grateful smile.

"What about you? I know Norah wasn't planned, but, do you ever think about having more?" The light turned green and as Mary moved the SUV through the intersection, she laughed.

"I would like to be attached to someone before I think about that. And, we all know how good I am at that kind of relationship."

_ "Oh, Mary." Jinx sat on the couch next to Mary, gently placing a hand on Mary's knee. "I'm sorry to hear that."_

_ "Don't be," Mary scoffed. "Kenny and I wanted two __**very**__ different things. We didn't work; no big deal."_

_ "Mary," Jinx started slowly. "Not every relationship is meant to stick."_

_ "Mom," Mary laughed. "I think I'm old enough to understand that. This wasn't a…teenage crush."_

_ "I know. I just…" Jinx took a deep breath and sighed. "All right. I'm just going to come out and say it. Of all of the people you've dated…Kenny wasn't someone I pictured you liking. I don't know what it was about him…He just didn't seem your type. When you first started seeing him…I wondered if you were looking for a relationship just because Marshall had one."_

_ "What? Are-are you kidding, Mother?" Mary's eyes widened in disbelief._

_ "No, Mary, listen. I know the two of you are close. And, I-I know that Marshall being with Abigail meant him spending less time with you. Were you looking for someone to fill that time?"_

_ "Oh, God," she whined, running a hand through her hair. "Mom, isn't it enough that Brandi and Peter are all over me about Marshall?"_

_ "What did they say?"_

_ "They think I'm in love with Marshall."_

_ "Well, they're right, Honey," Jinx smiled softly. "I think, deep down, that might have been part of the reason things didn't work with Raphael."_

_ "Mom!" she groaned._

"Oh, I don't' think it's a matter of being good at relationships," Delia said. "All that means is that you haven't found the right man yet. When you find the one that gets you…Then you'll be 'good' at the relationship."

_ "I defy you to categorize the women I've dated as belonging to one specific type," Marshall said, raising his eyebrows. "If anyone, it is __**you**__ who has a deeply ingrained patter to your romantic involvements." Mary rolled her eyes._

_ "Right. Yeah, okay," she laughed. "Dominican ball player and divorcee FBI agent. Peas in a pod, those two."_

_ "Both Raph and Faber believe that no matter how tough and independent a woman is, underneath it all, she wants a white picket fence and two and a half kids," he explained. "That's why you didn't marry Raph and Faber went back to sort things out with his ex-wife and two and a half kids." Mary scrunched her face._

_ "What are you saying? My type is guys that don't get me?"_

_ "In point of fact," he said to another roll of Mary's eyes, "your type is guys that you don't get don't get you." She frowned and looked away. "Short term," he continued, "you will, your words, not mine, drop jeans with just about anyone."_

_ "What?" she asked sharply._

"I think I'm kind of old to be having more kids, anyway" Mary said, diverting her thoughts.

"Old?"

"Yeah. Think about it. I'll be fifty-seven when Norah graduates from high school. That's old." She pointed a finger at Delia. "Don't you dare repeat this…I'm going to be forty in a couple of months. I don't know how to handle that."

"Oh, Mary," Delia giggled. "Forty is the new twenty."

"Yeah, well, I remember having a hell of a lot more energy when I was twenty."

**^m*m^**

Mary rubbed the heel of her hand over her eyes and covered a yawn. After verifying that the fourteen new witnesses were safely tucked away, Stan kindly offered Mary and Marshall the afternoon to catch up on paperwork. Bending a knee, she brought her foot up and rested it on the front edge of the chair. She laced her fingers across her knee, resting her chin on the back of her hand. Mary glanced across the desks at her partner. He looked just as she felt, ready to go cross-eyed.

In the month since they agreed to work out the kinks in their friendship, they had spoken a lot about Abigail's death. Mary did what she could to make the rough days comfortable for Marshall. She let him spout when he needed to vent, she sat silent in his presence when all he needed was company. She wondered if any of it truly helped. Nothing, after all, could change the past.

"Did you want to grab a bite?" Mary asked, standing and hauling her bag over her shoulder.

"Can I take a rain check? I have something to do tonight."

"Yeah, sure. Of course." She crossed her arms and leaned a hip against the front of Marshall's desk. "What are you doing? Dusting your first editions?" Marshall smiled at her teasing.

"No," he answered, rising from his chair and moving to stand in front of her. "I'm going to see Abigail."

"Oh." Mary dropped her arms and straightened. "Do you…do you need some company?" Marshall took her elbow and gently pulled her into his arms. As she returned the embrace, she felt him relax.

"I'll be all right," he said quietly. "Thank you." He pulled back enough to place of soft kiss on Mary's cheek.

"Okay, well, if you need anything…you know where I live." Marshall smiled his appreciation, lightly, slowly rubbing his hands up and down Mary's arms.

"That I do."

"Good night, Marshall."

"Good night, Mary." With a soft smile, she slipped through the glass doors and pushed the call button for the elevator. Marshall watched as she stepped into the car, disappearing behind the closing metal doors.

**^m*m^**

"Hey, Dad," Marshall said, sinking into the couch, phone pressed against his ear.

_"Marshall. How are you doing? I haven't heard from you in over a month."_

"I've been busy. Work and all. But, I'm all right."

_"Something's on your mind, though."_

"Yeah," Marshall sighed. "I don't know."

_"All right," _Seth said lightly. _"How are things with you and Mary?"_

"Better. Things seem to be falling into place, again."

_ "Did you talk to her?"_

"Yeah. We had a…long night of conversation."

"_Was it an actual conversation or did you fight?"_ Seth laughed.

"No," Marshall smiled. "It was an actual conversation. A good one. We're closer to our regular selves."

_ "Are you going to tell her?"_

"Tell her…what?" Marshall frowned in confusion.

_ "Tell her that you love her?"_

"Dad," Marshall said with a shake of his head.

_"Well, that is what's bothering you, isn't it?"_

"It…complicated, Dad."

"_Why does it have to be complicated? Boy likes girl. Girl likes boy. Sheesh, Marshall, please don't tell me that, at your age, I need to give you 'the birds and the bees' lecture."_

"No, no lecture is necessary." Marshall rubbed his eyes. "We're not…like that, Dad. Mary's not…We're not…"

_"Oh, bullshit. I've met Mary, remember. I've seen the two of you interact. And, I've heard the way to talk about her."_ Seth chuckled. _"Your mother always thought that Mary would be the one. But, I, uh, promised her I wouldn't tell you that, so you didn't hear that from me."_ It was Marshall's turn to laugh.

"Don't worry, Dad. Your secret is safe with me." Marshall adjusted his position to lie on the couch. "Do you know what I thought about the night Abigail was shot? I thought about Mary's shooting. About her kidnapping."

_"I'm not surprised to hear you say that, Marshall. It's perfectly normal to relate experiences. That's how we learn to deal with what Life throws our way."_ Set was quiet for a moment. _"You felt guilty?"_

"Yeah. I mean, it was my wife lying on the operating table, fighting for her life and all I could think about was my partner."

_ "Son, I know that you loved Abigail. These…feelings you have for Mary, they don't take away what you felt for Abigail." _

"I know."

_"You're not convincing me, Marshall."_

"I'm not convincing myself."

_"You've been through a lot. Abigail's death bringing up memories of Mary's plights…You're worried that Mary will be gone before you've had the chance to tell her how you feel."_

"Yeah."

_"So what are you waiting for, Son?"_


	12. Chapter 12

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Twelve**

Marshall shuffled through the papers on his desk, his mind drifting back to the night he spent at Mary's over a month prior. It had been a long night for both of them, reacquainting through the ill events of the previous months. He had explained the details of Abigail's death, the empty, hopeless loss that followed. Marshall found it odd that Mary wanted to hear about all of it. However, as he continued to share, he realized he had not fully discussed his feelings, not even with his father, nor had he personally come to terms with everything spinning through his head. Mary had offered the opportunity. He had tried to give Mary the same opening, but, despite the promise of full disclosure, she continued to deny anything but mild irritation over her break-up with Kenny.

_"Did you really…want that?" Marshall asked, taking a drink of his beer._

_"I don't know…Yeah, I did." Mary scrunched her face. "I guess I thought…Kenny…" She shrugged, searching for a way to explain herself._

_"You thought…" he prodded._

_"I thought maybe…because he had a kid that…"_

_"That he'd be more grown-up than-"_

_"What I usually look for?" she finished with a self-conscious smile._

_"Well, yeah."_

_"Yeah," she conceded. "I guess I did."_

_"What made you decide to look for something…long-term?" Marshall adjusted his position on the couch, facing Mary as he waited, curious for her answer. Mary stared absently at the empty pizza box on the table._

"_It didn't work out," she shrugged, purposely ignoring the question. "Not a big deal."_

He recognized the look on her face. It was one he didn't see often. It was fear. Marshall wasn't sure what prompted that sentiment, but it was present. Present until the end of the evening.

_The screen turned black and the white letters of the credits began to appear slowly across the screen. Marshall looked to his right, Mary asleep against his arm. He was sure she had missed the last thirty minutes of the movie; sure she had fallen asleep as soon as she rested her head on his shoulder. He dropped his feet from the coffee table and carefully turned, slipping his arm behind Mary's back. Marshall gently coaxed her movements, letting her stretch out of her curled form. She offered no resistance as he lay along the length of the couch, settling her body along his. Mary laid her head and a hand on his chest and he tightened his arm around her waist. Brushing the hair from her face, he smiled softly. She looked comfortable, content. It had been so long since he'd seen her this way. Too many months had passed filled with tension that kept them from being relaxed around each other._

_Marshall floated the tips of his fingers over the back of Mary's hand. He wanted this, needed this peacefulness between them. Nothing scared him more than the thought that he couldn't have it. The tears slipped from his eyes as he tightly closed them, wishing away the exhaustion, wanting just a few more minutes of consciousness to memorize the rhythm of Mary's breathing, the feel of her in his arms._

"Hey, Dingleberry!" Marshall jumped as a wadded piece of paper hit his forehead. "Wake up. Have another cup of coffee, huh?" Mary stuffed a handful of file folders into her bag. "It's not like we transfer a busload, literally, of witnesses every day. You should be enjoying every detail of this."

"Sorry." Marshall tossed the paper ball into the trashcan.

"Where is your head right now, anyway?"

"Uh, nowhere," he answered as he stood. Mary plopped her bag on Marshall's desk.

"Throw yours in." She crossed her arms, fingers drumming lightly against her sleeve. "You're staring at me." Marshall kept his eyes down as he put his folders in the bag.

"I am."

"Why?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, I did," he said, looking at her.

"With what? 'Nowhere'?" Mary scoffed. "That's not an answer." Marshall picked up the bag and moved to the front of the desk.

"Yes, it is," he countered, stuffing the bag into her arms.

"Um, no, it's not." Mary started to follow Marshall to Stan's office but stopped as she brought the strap over her shoulder. "Where you staring at my ass, again?" she teased.

"Yeah." Marshall turned to look at her, smirk in place. "Despite everything else we have to focus on today, your ass just commands the attention." Mary frowned as she studied her partner.

"That better not have been a fat joke." Marshall simply widened his smile and walked away. "I _have_ been doing my exercises, you know." Marshall had noticed; couldn't pretend otherwise. But, that was not going to stop him from razzing his partner over something he knew she loathed doing.

"Okay," Stan started as the marshals entered the room. "Everything is ready. Let's go grab the family." He stood and looked at the pair in front of his desk, one smiling, one scowling. "Marshall, did you make another fat joke?" he asked.

"Maybe." Mary reached out and grabbed Marshall's tie, pulling him close to her face.

"Keep it up, Buster. The next thing that will be fat will be your lip." Marshall smiled and pursed his lips in a kiss.

"All right, all right," Stan moved around his desk and pushed between them. "Save the ass-kickings until the trial is over and the witnesses are on their way."

"Yes, Dad," they answered in unison. As they left the office, Mary dug her ringing phone from her bag. "Hey, Squish."

_"Mary, I have a problem."_

"Just one?"

_"Mary," _Brandi whined.

"Sorry, Squish. What's up?"

_"Remember I said the guys were here to re-do the siding on the house and remodel Breindel's room?"_

"Yeah."

_"Yeah, well, they're not quite finished. I guess there was a problem with the delivery truck and they don't have all of the materials they need to finish the bedroom. They won't have them until tomorrow afternoon."_ Brandi sighed. _"They're going to work through the weekend but they won't be done until Tuesday. And, the house is so full of dust and drywall crud."_

"Do you need a place to stay?"

_"Just for me and Breindel."_

"You can stay with me, Squish. You know, Peter can come, too."

_"He wants to stay here and make sure the weekend crew catches up the right way."_

"Yeah, can't blame him there. So come over."

_"Are you sure that it's okay?"_

"Of course I'm sure. You still have the key, pop over whenever you need to."

_"Oh, Mary, thank you, thank you, thank you,"_ she squealed.

"Yeah, yeah," she smiled softly. "I'll see you tonight." Marshall waited until Mary ended the call before speaking.

"Ah," he teased. "House guests."

"Yeah." Mary followed Stan and Marshall to the elevator. "This whole remodeling thing. I lived in a house full of holes, remember?" Marshall nodded. "I can't let Brandi and Breindel sit in that."

"What about Peter?" he asked as they entered the elevator.

"He's a big kid," she shrugged. "He can handle it."

**^m*m^**

"Do we get new names?" Mary peered across the table, a young, red-haired boy staring back at her.

"You get a new last name," she answered.

"What if I don't want a new last name?"

"Drew, that's enough," Barbara said quietly.

"No, no. It's all right." Mary smiled at the round, freckled face. "Having a new name…It's almost like having a secret identity." Drew eyed her suspiciously.

"Am I a villain or a good guy?"

"A good guy," she nodded. "Definitely a good guy."

"What if I don't want to be the good guy?" he asked defiantly.

"Then you can be the villain, I guess."

"Will we have a new house?"

"Yes."

"What if I don't want a new house?"

"Drew," Barbara cautioned. "I'm sorry. He is going through that 'why' stage."

"I don't know that we ever out-grow that," Mary joked.

"Will we get a new one of you and Marshall?"

"Um, yeah. There will be two new marshals to take you to your new home."

"What if I don't want new marshals?"

"Sorry, kid. That's how this works. Those are the rules." Drew nodded quietly as he tried to put together the information he'd extracted. Mary looked at the time on her cell phone. "Jonathon should be finished shortly," she said, turning her attention to Barbara. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she answered as she took a deep breath. "It's just moving so quickly. Which isn't all-bad, I suppose. It will be nice to be settled." Mary nodded. A soft cry stole Barbara's attention. "Excuse me." She rose from the chair and moved to the far side of the room where the children had gathered, the older ones reading, the younger ones napping. Mary watched as Barbara lifted Claire from the floor, laying the little one's head on her shoulder. She softly patted the girl's back, bouncing her ever so gently until her tiny eyelids closed once more.

"Are you and Marshall married?" Mary turned quickly back to Drew.

"What?"

"Are you and Marshall married?" he repeated.

"No. Marshall and I are friends." Drew's face scrunched as though he had eaten something entirely too sour.

"You're friends with a boy?" Mary nodded. "Cooties!" he yelled. "Yuck!" He stood and ran over to his mother. Barbara offered Mary an apologetic smile.

"You have cooties?" She turned to the voice at her ear. "Don't you think that's information that should be shared with your partner? I am, after all, with you all of the time."

"You're funny, Marshall. Really. You should do stand-up." Marshall smiled and took a seat in the chair next to her.

"Jonathon, Barbara," Stan started, motioning for the two to sit at the table. Two men stood next to Stan, both dressed in black suits. "These are you new marshals. Inspector Laufen and Inspector Crall. They are going to take you from the building to your new city."

"What city would that be?" Jonathon asked.

"As not to compromise your security, we cannot discuss that until we are on the road," Crall answered.

"Keeping you safe depends largely on the fewest number of people knowing your location," Marshall said. "Even the three of us are not allowed to know where you will be going." Papers were passed around the table, signatures scribbled. Stan collected the documents and handed them to Crall.

"Do you have any questions for us before we officially complete this transfer?" Stan asked.

"No," Jonathon answered. "Thank you for helping us." Everyone stood and the children were divided among the inspectors.

"I don't want to go with her, Mom," Drew said as Mary waved him over. "She has cooties," he whispered. Mary knelt in front of the boy.

"You can go with Marshall," she told him.

"Great!" he said happily. Mary reached up and messed up his hair. "No! Yuck!"

"And, you can give him my cooties, too," she smiled. The family was taken through the building to a back exit and placed inside the van. Mary watched the van drive away, little hands waving through the windows. She put on her sunglasses and looked pointedly at Marshall. "One word, Marshall."

"One word what?"

"One word about having twelve kids and I'll kill you." He moved his hands to his chest and feigned an innocent look.

"Would I do such a thing?" he asked. Stan huffed a loud sigh.

"They haven't even left the parking lot, yet," he said. "And, you're ready to go at each other's throats." He shook his head and walked back into the building.

**^m*m^**

"Holy Mother of All That Is Holy," Mary groaned. "I never, _never_ want to do this much paperwork again."

"Don't complain. I did most of it," Marshall said. "You should be thanking me." He gave her a lopsided smile.

"Should be, but won't be," she smiled. "What a day. Come on, let's go." Marshall watched her slip her arms into her coat and hoist her bag over her shoulder.

"Where, exactly?"

"You're buying me a drink," she informed him.

"Oh, am I?"

"Maybe two." Marshall pushed the button to turn off the computer monitor. "You know what? Maybe we should call a cab…"

"Is this going to be one of those nights I'm going to regret?" Mary shrugged with an innocent smile.

"We'll see how good your game is, won't we?" she taunted. Marshall sighed.

"Yep, it's going to be one of those." He stood, grabbing his coat, and followed Mary to the elevator. "Why must I be punished when you feel the need to get your drink on?"

"Punished? You can drink, too, Doofus." She smiled as the elevator doors closed. "It's a win-win."

**^m*m^**

"So this whole thing with Anna…" Brandi shrugged as she sat on the corner of Mary's bed, Norah sitting on her lap. "It's pretty serious?" Mary ran the brush through her hair once more before setting it on the dresser.

"I don't know that it's serious," she answered.

"Well, he's introducing her to Norah. That means something, doesn't it?"

"I don't know. Believe it or not, Mark and I don't discuss his lady friends." Brandi leaned an arm back onto the mattress.

"Aren't you just the little bit curious about her?"

"Nope." Mary moved to the closet and grabbed a long-sleeve shirt. "As long as she's good to Norah, who Mark does is his business."

"Always so crass, Mary."

"Crass? Who says 'crass'? Have you been hanging out with Marshall?" Brandi laughed.

"No, but you sure have been a lot lately. What's the story there?"

"There's no story, Squish." Mary looked at Brandi and tilted her head. "Can you leave? I'd like to change clothes."

"Yeah." Brandi stood, placing Norah on her hip, and walked to the door. "Are you sure there's no-"

"There is no story," she interrupted. "It's been a long week and we're going out to relieve a little stress." Brandi giggled. "Squish," Mary scolded. "Not that way."

"Mm-hmm," she hummed with a shake of her head.

"Changing here, remember? Out."

"Come on, Norah. Mommy's crabby," she laughed.

"Out!" Brandi closed the door and moved through the hallway. She set Norah on the floor of the living room, next to her toys, and sat on the couch.

"I don't know about your mom, Kiddo." She reached for the car seat, adjusting the small blanket over a sleeping Breindel. "For such a smart person, she's pretty blind sometimes."

"Knock, knock." Brandi turned to look at the door as Mark entered the house. "Hey, Brandi. How are you?"

"Good, Mark. How are you?"

"Wonderful," he smiled. "Hey, Sweetheart." He lifted Norah from the floor and kissed her temple. "Where's Mary?"

"She's changing," Brandi answered. "She's got a date."

"It's not a date, Brandi." Mary emerged from the hallway, hands on her hips. "It's just Marshall."

"Marshall?" Mark raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you two were…"

"We're not. We are going out for a few drinks. That's all." Brandi turned to Mark.

"It was a long week," she said with a wink.

"Oh," Mark nodded with a smile.

"Holy sh-" Catching her language, Mary moved to Mark's side, placing her hands over Norah's ears. "Shit," she finished quietly. "I cannot believe the two of you." A light rapping on the door stopped the correcting Mary was about to do.

"I'll get it!" Brandi called, skipping to the door. "Hi, Marshall. Come on in."

"Thanks." Marshall stepped inside. "How is your little one?"

"Sleeping," she answered, pointing towards the car seat. "This whole teething thing has really knocked him out." Marshall smiled and followed Brandi.

"Mark," he greeted, shaking the man's hand.

"How's it going, Marshall?" He turned as Norah held out her arms.

"Hey, Norah Bean," Marshall smiled as he took hold of the little girl.

"Bee," she squealed.

"Bean, that's right. Norah Bean," he nodded. "That's my girl." Mary stood before the two men, shaking her head. She was amazed how receptive Norah was of Marshall. Despite the long months during which Mary had limited contact between the two, Marshall was clearly no stranger to her daughter.

"Did you know she says 'mama', too?" Mark asked with a proud smile on his face.

"No, I didn't know that." Marshall looked to Mary. "You didn't tell me." She smiled slightly and shrugged.

"Norah, who's that?" Mark pointed to Mary.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma," Norah answered.

"See?"

"Wow. That's incredible," Marshall smiled.

"All right, give her here." Mary took Norah from Marshall and kissed her forehead. "Be good for Daddy, Bug." She handed her back to Mark. "Uh, good luck. With tonight and all of that."

"Thanks. See you later, Brandi. Marshall, nice to see you, again." He bounced Norah a little as he looked at the baby in the car seat. "Can you blow Breindel a kiss?" Norah pushed her palm against her mouth. "Good job. Bye, guys."

"Okay, Squish. Sorry to just ditch you like this," Mary said.

"Nah," she said, waving her hand. "I'm just thankful that I have a clean place to spend the night."

"Yeah. Help yourself to whatever you can find for food. It's been a little awhile since I've gone shopping." She turned to Marshall. "Ready?"

"The cab is waiting for us," he nodded.

"Great. Bye, Squish." Mary hugged her sister.

"Bye. Bye, Marshall."

"Brandi," he nodded. She watched the pair leave the house and laughed to herself.

"No story, my ass."

**^m*m^**

"What are the chances we'll get another big family?" Mary asked.

"I don't know," Marshall answered. "I don't like it when children are involved. It's hard enough for the adults to process what they're going through. I can only imagine what it's like for a child." He took a drink of his beer. "So I hope it never happens again."

"Must be pretty time-consuming," she commented, wiping the condensation off the thick glass in front of her.

"Taking care of twelve kids? I'm sure it is."

"No, not that part." She looked at him. "The _making_ of twelve kids." Mary raised her eyebrows suggestively.

"Ugh," he groaned. "You did not just go there."

"Ha ha!" she laughed. "I so did. I mean, practice makes perfect, right?" Mary watched a slow pink float across Marshall's cheeks, visible even in the dim light of the bar.

"Unbelievable," he muttered, finishing his beer.

"That's what she said."

"I don't want to do this," Marshall said, shaking his head.

"That's what she said." Mary frowned. "Or, not, I guess."

"Mary!" he scolded.

"What?" she laughed. "Maybe I just like to see you blush." She reached towards him, gently pinching his cheek. He playfully pushed her hand away. "What's wrong, Marshall? Can't stand the thought of two people gettin' it on?"

"Maybe they're not the two I like to think about."

"Whoa, what? TMI, Pervus."

"That's not what I meant."

"Really? What _did _you mean? Who, exactly, do you think about?" Marshall tilted his head slightly as he regarded his very giggly and clearly intoxicated partner.

"I will not fall into your trap, Mare," he smiled. "There's no right answer to this question." He reached for the small empty glass on the bar between them, catching the bartender's eye as he lifted the glass in the air.

"No, Marshall. No more shots."

"Aw, are you chicken?" he asked as the bartender poured the shot and refilled their beer mugs.

"I am not chicken. I don't want to be hung over tomorrow." Marshall moved the glass closer to Mary and she took it from his hand. "My tolerance hasn't been up to par since Norah was born." Bringing the glass to her mouth, she tipped her head back.

"Poor girl." Mary slid the empty glass along the bar top towards Marshall and offered a wicked smile.

"Your turn, Cowboy."

**^m*m^**

"I'm going to have a headache tomorrow," Mary said as the cab pulled up to the opening of her driveway. She handed the driver a few bills for the fare and turned to Marshall. "A massive headache."

"I'm sorry," he said with a soft laugh.

"Yeah, you're not. Remind me not to let you buy the drinks next time." She opened the door and flashed him a smile. "I'll see you on Monday. Good night, Marshall."

"Good night, Mare." He watched as she closed the door and made her way along the driveway, much steadier than he would have expected.

"Where to?" the driver asked. Marshall ran his fingers over his lips.

"Uh, can you wait her for just a moment? I won't be long."

"Sure thing." Marshall left the cab, following Mary.

"Always a gentleman," she mumbled when she heard his footsteps.

"Just making sure my partner gets home safely."

"You don't have to walk me to my door, Marshall. I'm a big girl," she said, turning to him.

"I noticed," Marshall smirked. Mary rolled her eyes and pulled her keys from her pocket.

"Are you going to kiss me 'good-night', too?" she joked as she opened the door.

"You play the innuendo right up 'til the end, don't you, Mare?" He stood behind her and she turned to him with a smile.

"Don't pretend you don't like it." She narrowed her eyes and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. "You're just as much to blame here, Cowboy. This…" she said, hand moving in the air between them. "This is a two-way street." Marshall nodded slowly.

"True. But, it's your incessant need to one-up me that keeps the conversation going."

"Don't say 'incessant'. And, I do _not_ need to one-up you."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't." Marshall took a step towards Mary, settling his left hand on her hip.

"Yes, you do," he said softly. He lifted his right hand to her neck, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. Mary opened her mouth to argue but, found herself unable to counter. "I've always wondered how far you'd go, Mare," he continued. "You are, after all, the epitome of 'competitive'."

"Don't say 'epitome'," she said, her voice quiet and breathy. Marshall watched her, amused by the conflict playing across her face and through her actions. She was thinking, trying to predict his next move. Confusion flickered in her eyes. No other game of suggestion had ever gone this far. Mary had nothing on which to base her calculations, no tell on which to call his bluff. So her stance was steady, her hands on his arms, prepared to push him away if necessary. However uncomfortable she might have been, Marshall knew Mary was not one to back down from a challenge, especially in her intoxicated state. He was taking advantage of that fact; the darkening of her eyes leading him to a point well beyond caring.

"Well? How far, Mary?" His voice remained soft.

"I guess…that depends on how far you'd go to…provoke me." Marshall dropped his eyes to her mouth. Provoke her, he would. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently, teasing her with a light touch of his lips against hers. Feeling her stiffen as she started to pull away, he carefully tightened his fingers on her hip and slid his hand to the back of her neck, holding her in place. Marshall ended the kiss slowly and took in her closed eyes and the small crinkle that creased her brow.

"Your turn, Mare," he whispered, knowing he'd get no outward reaction from her. He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip and took the last step separating their bodies, pushing her against the doorframe. "How much provocation do you need?" She shook her head, eyes still closed.

"Don't say provo-" Marshall's mouth closed over hers again, asking with a dangerous persistence, deliberately slow and thorough, for permission to continue. His arms wrapped around her waist, hers around his shoulders, as slowly as they kissed. He pulled her away from the frame and walked her backwards through the open door, never breaking contact with her mouth. Settling her against the pillar of the half wall in the entryway, he released her lips.

"You have to tell me, Mary," he said quietly, his eyes still focused on her mouth. "You have to tell me if you want me to stop." Mary looked at Marshall, unable to concentrate on anything but his body pressed against hers. He ran the tip of his finger over her mouth and down along her chin with gentle pressure, parting her lips as he leaned in to kiss her again. Her hands moved from his shoulders to his chest, her body shocked and mystified by the passion in his kiss, the gentleness of his hold.

"Yuck, you two. Get a room." Mary dropped her hands and Marshall took a step backwards.

"Brandi's here," he said calmly.

"Brandi's _here_?" Mary turned, spotting her sister on the far side of the living room, Breindel in her arms, both outlined by the glow of the television. "Oh, right." She turned back to Marshall, nodding as she remembered the reason for her sister's presence. "Brandi's here."

"Sorry," Brandi said, making her way to the couch. "The teething…he's not sleeping well."

"That kid has slept through the night _every _night since he was born and he picks now to make an appearance," Mary mumbled. Marshall laughed softly.

"Probably for the better," he said, brushing a lock of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. "The, uh, cab is…still waiting," he said by way of explanation. Mary let her head fall backwards against the wall as she looked at Marshall.

"Shit. We're going to have to have another talk, aren't we?" He smirked and wrapped a hand roughly in her hair. This time he was not gentle, kissing her briefly before turning and walking out the door.

"Okay," Brandi said with a roll of her eyes. Mary closed and locked the door, and leaned her forehead against the frame. "You don't love Marshall, but you let him kiss you like that?"

"I didn't _let him_ kiss me."

"Yeah. Sure weren't trying to stop him, were you?" Brandi laughed. Mary sat heavily on the couch and frowned.

"Whatever, it was Marshall's fault. I had nothing to do with it." Brandi noted the slight slur to her words.

"Oh, my god. Mary? Are you…are you drunk?" she laughed.

"No," Mary said quickly. "Yes. No. A little." She shook her head and waved a dismissive hand. "Again, Marshall's fault. There might have been shots involved, that's all I know."

"Uh-huh." Mary stood.

"I'm going to bed, Squish. 'Night."

"Good night." Mary wandered into the hallway, running a hand through her hair. She absently drew her fingers across her cheek to her mouth. Mary could still feel the tingle left by the sweep of Marshall's thumb across her skin. She could still feel the pressure of his lips, the weight of his body. She closed the bedroom door after entering the room and laughed lightly. Marshall was right about her need to out-do him. But, she wasn't the only one who was competitive. Marshall matched her enthusiasm to win and had no qualms about playing along. With a deep sigh, Mary sank onto the edge of the mattress. The previous week, Marshall had tried to win back his pen with forced physicality. She had not anticipated the use of something so intimate to throw her off her game. She frowned thoughtfully as she considered this new tactic. If she really allowed herself to think about it…

_"I can stay like this all day, Mare," Marshall said softly, his face betraying no game. Mary's breath caught in her throat as he tightened both arms around her waist, his hold a strange mixture of soft and possessive. Marshall adjusted his stance, dissolving the very little bit of space between them. "Can you?" Mary smiled softly. She ran her hand from his chest over his shoulder, both of her hands no joined behind his neck._

_"I think I can handle it," she offered, her voice a little more impish than she had intended. She watched Marshall's expression change. She had him; the next move was his. Though she had a strange feeling his move would be a dangerous one._

_"For the love of Pete," Stan exclaimed as he entered. "How long are you going to fight over this pen?" He reached up, pulling the pen from Mary's hand._

_"Hey!" Mary and Marshall yelled as Stan slipped the pen into his pocket._

Had any other man tried to detain her in such a fashion, she would have pushed him away. And, then, very clearly made known her opinion of the disrespectful invasion of her personal space. But, Marshall…She allowed his invasion, played along. Tonight, she allowed him to take the infiltration one step farther. She let him kiss her. Mary closed her eyes. She felt a warm flurry flutter through her body as she recalled this kiss. She smiled. This flurry. Maybe it was the 'butterflies in the stomach' she'd heard so much about. The butterflies, the lingering sensations of tender touches, the way her body shutdown yet came so much to life when Marshall kissed her… No wonder people in love were always so happy. If this is what being in love felt like then—

Mary's eyes snapped open.

"Holy shit!" She jumped off the bed, threw open the door and headed back into the living room. "Squish!" She sat on the couch next to Brandi, placing a hand on her knee and one on her shoulder.

"Mary?" Brandi asked, taking in the panicked look on her sister's face. "What?" Mary took a deep breath.

"I think I'm in love with Marshall." Brandi covered her mouth, hiding her smile.


	13. Chapter 13

**a/n:** My husband, who thinks I'm the silliest of gooses for writing fan fiction, bought me a laptop for Christmas so that I don't have to be tied to the old, crappy, hard computer chair when I want to write. So, he a) doesn't really think I'm that crazy or b) is trying to get me committed and figures this will foster the insanity. But, I love him anyway! Please excuse my long absence from the story. The last few weeks have been nothing but the flu that never ends being passed around my house. I'm finally coherent enough to focus on what I'm trying to type. I think…

**Chapter Thirteen**

_ Mary rolled onto her back, turning her head slightly to see the alarm clock. She groaned as her eyes focused on the red numbers, the time reading almost noon. Carefully getting out of bed, she made her way down the hallway to the bathroom. Mary splashed some cold water over her face. It didn't help with the pain building behind her eyes, but it momentarily calmed the wave of nausea floating over her body. Slowly, she made her way into the kitchen, taking a deep breath as her sister's chipper voice pierced the air._

_ "Well, good morning, Sleepy Head." Brandi smiled as Mary grumbled her way into the kitchen and sat at the table. "One glass of ice-cold water, two ibuprofen." Brandi set the items on the table in front of Mary and sat down. "How are you feeling today?" she asked with a wide smile._

_ "I feel like throwing up would be the most blessed thing to ever happen to me," Mary answered. She picked up the ibuprofen and put them in her mouth. "Thanks, Squish."_

_ "So, you and Marshall…" she shrugged._

_ "What about us?"_

_ "Are you…?"_

_ "Are we what?"_

_ "Do you remember what the two of you were doing when you came home last night?" Brandi asked, eyebrow raised._

_ "Of course I remember," Mary answered, refusing to look at her sister._

_ "So?"_

_ "So, what?"_

_ "Mary," Brandi groaned. "Come on. When are you going to see that the two of you are in love?"_

_ "Wow. Could I maybe get past my hangover before you start drilling me about being in love?" Mary took a small drink of the water. "I am not in love with Marshall."_

_ "That's not what you told me last night."_

_ "I was drunk. People say stupid things when they're drunk," she shrugged._

_ "Well, judging by the way the two of you were kissing…There was some definite heat there, Mary."_

_ "We were drunk. People do stupid things when they're drunk," she shrugged again._

_ "Mary." Brandi shook her head._

_ "Look, Brandi, we went out for drinks, as we have done on many, many occasions in the past." Mary closed her hands over the glass. "It's not like this is the first time we've been a little less than sober."_

_ "A little less," Brandi laughed. "Have you ended other nights with a hot and heavy kiss?"_

_ "No."_

_ "Hmm."_

_ "What the hell, Squish? 'Hmm.' What does that mean?"_

_ "Here's an interesting question." Brandi bent her leg, bringing her foot onto the edge of the chair as she ignored Mary's inquiry. She rested her chin on her knee and smiled. "How far would you have gone if I hadn't interrupted?"_

Mary shuffled through the papers on her desk with a sigh. She rested her temple against her fist. Her head hurt and, as much as she wished the pain stemmed from a three-day hangover, she knew the cause was seriously over-thinking the kiss she shared with Marshall. People _did _do stupid things when they were intoxicated; she had a couple of drunken tumbles under her belt that served to prove her point.

But, Mary and Marshall, together, did not do those kinds of things.

Mary looked across the desks at her partner. Marshall understood her disdain for chivalry. Even when her hands were full, he flat-out refused to open the door for her until she asked him to do so. Walking her to the front door was another thing he did only when asked. Once, and, only once, had Mary asked. It was a night just a month after her kidnapping. Mary sensed the change in Marshall's demeanor as the cab had approached her house. She knew he needed to be certain she was safe, if nothing else but for his own sanity, so she allowed his company. There was no reason for Marshall to follow her to her door this time. Unless…

"_It's your incessant need to one-up me that keeps the conversation going. I've always wondered how far you'd go, Mare."_

Mary shook her head. He _was_ playing her, wasn't he?

_ "Your turn, Mare. How much provocation do you need?"_

She had seized the opportunity with words, issuing a challenge she had been certain he would not take. But…

_ "Don't say provo-" Marshall's mouth closed over hers again, asking with a dangerous persistence, deliberately slow and thorough, for permission to continue._

…she had been wrong.

_ "You have to tell me, Mary," he said quietly, his eyes still focused on her mouth. "You have to tell me if you want me to stop." He ran the tip of his finger over her mouth and down along her chin with gentle pressure, parting her lips as he leaned in to kiss her again._

She quickly turned her eyes away from his desk. Marshall spent the morning clearly uncomfortable around her; the teen-age embarrassment thick between the two. Had Marshall followed her to…had he _wanted _to kiss her?

"Hey," Marshall said quietly from in front of her desk. "Um…Are-are you ready to, uh, go?"

"Yeah," Mary answered. "Let me, uh…" She reached to the floor for her bag then pushed back her chair and stood. "Yeah." She followed Marshall to the door, both reaching for the handle at the same time and quickly pulling back as their hands met. "Sorry," she offered, looking at the floor.

"Sorry." He opened the door. "Um, yeah." Marshall walked through the door, Mary following.

**^m*m^**

"_You have to tell me if you want me to stop."_

Why didn't she stop him? Mary bit her bottom lip as she stared out the window. She hadn't been looking for it to happen. She was rather surprised it had occurred. But, once it started, there was no part of her screaming 'stop'. She welcomed the action as though it was perfectly natural for Marshall to be kissing her. Even now, three days later, Mary couldn't say that it had been a mistake. In all of her mulling, she never second-guessed it.

"So…How's it been with Brandi…staying at your…your house?" Mary looked at him.

"Uh, good. Good." She nodded absently and turned her gaze back to the window, the silence once, again, descending over them.

"What color?" Marshall asked after a few minutes.

"What?"

"Of siding?"

"Oh, uh, dark green," Mary answered, looking at her hands. "Brown trim."

"Sounds lovely," he replied, his eyes steadily focused on the road.

"Yeah." Mary dared a quick look at her partner. How many times had Peter and Brandi, Jinx and even Mark told her what she failed to see? Was it really so obvious to everyone? Was she really that oblivious? No, not oblivious. She was scared. And, 'scared' meant denying the signs others pointed out, denying the signs she herself saw. Mary took a slow breath, allowing a sober and proper admittance of the truth to herself. She was indeed in love with Marshall.

"Well, here we are," Marshall announced. His shoulders relaxed a bit, relieved to be leaving the uncouth calm of the SUV. He pulled the key from the ignition, his hands dropping to his lap.

"Right." Mary grabbed the door handle, but did not pull, simply staring at her fingers. She didn't move; he didn't move. "Marshall?" she asked quietly. He reached towards her, gently folding his fingers over her free hand.

"If you're all right, we're all right," he assured her quietly. She met his eyes.

"Okay. For now?" Marshall tilted his head in askance. "I-I mean until we can…you know…about all of this later," she explained.

"Right," he nodded. "Later." He released her hand, but continued to hold her eyes. "There _has_ to be a talk this time, Mare."

"I know. There will be."

"Okay," he said softly, nodding again. "Let's go." They exited the SUV and crossed the street. "Surprise visits," he smiled, trying to lighten the mood as they moved along the sidewalk towards the small, yellow house. "I love 'em." Mary smiled softly.

"Yeah, me, too." They climbed the four-step flight of creaky wooden stairs and crossed the small porch to the front door. Marshall knocked lightly as he watched Mary. Her eyes focused downward as she gently kicked the planks of the floor with the toe of her heeled boots.

"Marshall, Mary," greeted a nervous voice. "I wasn't…expecting you."

"Good morning to you, too, Krista. May we come in?" Marshall asked.

"Uh, it's really not a good time…"

"Wrong answer," Mary said, pushing into the house. "Is there something wrong?" she asked as Marshall closed the door behind them.

"No, of course not. Everything is peachy." Krista offered a non-convincing smile. "How-how are the two of you?"

"No time for chit chat, Krista. What's going on?" Krista moved to the middle of the living room, the marshals following.

"Nothing," she answered, turning to face them. Marshall caught her eyes as she uneasily glanced from them to the front door. He moved to the picture window next to the door, pulling the sheer white curtains back just an inch. He reached for his side, fingers wrapping around his firearm, as he saw a man dressed in a black leather jacket approach the house.

"We have company," he said quietly.

"Okay, Krista. Who is it?"

"No one. J-just a friend." Mary watched as Krista's hands met, fingers nervously entwining.

"A friend?" She kept her eyes on Krista but directed her question over her shoulder. "Marshall? Do you panic when your friends come to visit?"

"Only when it's you," he replied calmly, eyes still trained through the glass.

"Jackass." Mary turned back to their witness. "You remember the drill right?" She pointed to herself. "Cousin Mary Miller." She pointed to her partner. "And, her asshole of a husband, Marshall." Krista nodded. "What have you been doing?"

"Gun!" Marshall yelled before Krista could answer Mary's question. He immediately drew his firearm, breaking the glass and returning the shots the man was suddenly sending through the front door. Mary threw her arms around Krista, pulling their bodies to the floor. Marshall watched the man trip over the bottom stair, stilling as his body slid to a slump on the sidewalk. He reached for his phone as he cautiously opened the front door. "Stan, it's Marshall. I need an ambulance and an emergency relocation." Marshall, his gun still trained on the visitor, descended the first two stairs and surveyed the barren front yard and the empty street. "Yeah, Mary can bring her back. I'll stay here." He shoved the phone into his pocket. Satisfied there would be no more surprises, Marshall kicked at the man's hand, receiving no reaction. He reached for his neck, no pulse. Marshall holstered his gun and returned to the house. "He's out, Mary. We're clear."

"Great," Mary said, rolling off Krista with a groan. Marshall knelt on the floor next to Krista. She lay on her back, arm bent to cover the tears flowing from her eyes. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm fine."

"Who was that?" he asked sternly.

"My boyfriend." Krista's hand fell from her eyes and she looked coldly at Marshall. "You didn't kill him, did you?"

"Considering he was prepared to turn you into Swiss cheese…you're welcome." Krista rolled onto her stomach as she tried to rise and Marshall's eyes went wide at the sight of blood on her back.

"Don't move." He pushed her back onto the floor. "Where are you hit?" he asked, reaching to lift up her shirt.

"I'm not," she spat, trying to keep him away from her clothes.

"I forgot, Marshall," Mary hissed from her place on the floor.

"Forgot what, Mare?" he asked, examining Krista's back. Finding no injuries, Marshall sat straight and slowly looked at Mary.

"I forgot…how much it hurts," she answered. He crawled over Krista, dropping his phone by her hand.

"No, no. Mary?" Marshall tugged on Mary's arm, rolling her onto her back. His eyes caught the angry red color soaking into her shirt and he quickly scrambled to remove his suit coat. "Krista, call 911! Tell them we need a second ambulance, officer down." Marshall fumbled with the buttons of his dark blue shirt; certain in his haste that he was ripping the delicate length of thread that secured them to the fabric.

"Mother fucker," Mary whispered.

"It's all right, Mare. The ambulance is on its way." He lifted the hem of Mary's shirt, quickly assessing her injury before pressing his balled shirt against her abdomen. "It's all right."

"Marshall?"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, brushing her hair from her face. "Save your energy, Mare."

"Tell…tell Norah that I-I love her."

"No." Mary met Marshall's eyes and frowned in confusion. "I'm not going to tell her because you're going to do it yourself. Do you hear me? You're going to tell her."

"Marshall…" She lifted her hand to his arm, briefly tightening her fingers. "I lo…I-l…" He felt her hold loosen, her hand fall away. Marshall watched as Mary's eyes rolled and her eyelids fluttered closed.

"No, Mary. Open your eyes." He gently slapped her cheek. "Mary? Damn it! Open your eyes!"

**^m*m^**

_"Oh, Jesus." Marshall ran quickly, catching up to the gurney as the nurses wheeled it through the hallway. He leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Mary's temple; her skin cold beneath his lips. "You need to hang around for a while," he told her. "It's not time to go, yet. Okay? We're going to fix you up."_

"Marshall?" He turned towards the scared voice. "Oh, God." Brandi covered her mouth with her hand, tears falling as she noticed the large patch of blood that soaked the lower half of his white t-shirt.

"I'm sorry," he said, gesturing towards his clothing. "I didn't have…" Marshall ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. His shoulders dropped.

"It's okay," she said quietly, walking towards him. "Are you all right? Were you…you hurt?"

"No," he whispered. Brandi lifted her hand to his cheek.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For getting my sister to the hospital."

_ "You know," Marshall started, changing the subject with a clearing of his throat. "You know, we can talk now…"_

_ "Mm-hmm." Mary turned away from him._

_ "Or we can talk later."_

_ "Mm-hmm," she repeated._

_ "But, a talk is a-coming."_

_ "I'm fine," she said, meeting his eyes. He sighed loudly, calling her line of bull. "Okay," she conceded. "It's just…When you got shot…" she trailed off._

_ "Uh-huh," he said, urging her to continue._

_ "I mean, you probably felt the same way. You know, like you were stuck inside," Mary explained. "Like you couldn't move out of what happened." Marshall watched as her eyes took on a far-away look. "You know, you see it over and over in your head, but none of it makes sense. None of it helps. And, then, the more you think about it, the less clear it gets, so the more you think about it." She looked up at him. "You know?"_

_ "No," Marshall shook his head. "None of that."_

_ "Not a bit?"_

_ "Reason being," he said softly, "when I got shot, my best friend was there for me. Yours wasn't."_

_ "Marshall," Mary scolded._

_ "My best friend caught the shooter," he continued. "Yours didn't."_

"Brandi," Marshall started with a shake of his head. "I don't know…I can't promise that she's…"

"I know." She wrapped her arms around his, slipping her fingers into his hand. "When she comes of out surgery…_When,_" she reiterated. "You need to go talk to her." Marshall frowned as he looked at Brandi. "Do you know what she told me? The first time she was…was shot?" He shook his head. "She told me she could hear you talking to her. And, she had to wake up so she could…" Brandi looked away. "How did she put it? Oh! So she could smack you and stop your 'spewing of useless shit'." Marshall laughed and wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, careful not get blood on her clothing.

"Useless shit," he smiled, though sadly. "I can do that."

"Marshall? How's my daughter?" Jinx stopped a few feet away from him, as taken aback by the blood as Brandi had been.

"She's in surgery. That's all I know right now." She took a deep breath before closing the distance between them.

"Were you hurt?" she asked, taking the hand Brandi was not holding.

"No." Silence filled the room, everyone looking at the floor, no one knowing what to say. Marshall wanted anything but the silence, anything to keep his mind from concocting the worst of scenarios, from remembering the past.

_"Excuse me. Are you the family of Mary Shannon?" Dr. Bronstein asked as he entered the room._

_ "Yes," Jinx answered. "I'm her mother."_

_ "Please, sit down." Dr. Bronstein took a seat as everyone else sat. "Ms. Shannon, your daughter suffered significant loss of blood as the result of a gunshot wound to the abdomen. She was in full cardiac arrest when they brought her in." He took a breath. "We did manage to shock her heart back into a somewhat regular sinus rhythm. And, I've clamped off all the bleeding that I can." Marshall turned his head away, fighting back a strong rush of nausea. "But, before we can attempt any further surgery, we've got to get her blood volume back up to an acceptable level and get that heart stabilized."_

_ "But you can do that, right?" Brandi asked through tears._

_ "We hope so."_

_ "Is there any way to know if there's been permanent damage?" Jinx asked. "I mean, her brain, is she…"_

_ "It's really too early to tell. She's on a ventilator for now. We'll check her condition in a few hours and see if we can continue."_

_ "What if you can't?" Marshall tightly closed his eyes at Brandi's question. She was the only one brave enough to ask the question tearing through all of their hearts._

**^m*m^**

"Marshall?" Stan said quietly as he approached his inspector. "Here." He handed Marshall a small backpack. "Some clothes. And, a word?" He followed Stan into the hallway. "Delia and Charlie have Krista secured and are making the transfer."

"She had a…Some guy came to the house," Marshall said, staring at the floor. "He opened fire before he'd reached the front door."

"Mitch Andre," Stan nodded. "We checked his records. He has multiple arrests for domestic violence, a few DUIs. But, he has no ties to Krista's past. It looks like boyfriend gone bad."

"And, Mary pays the price," Marshall spat.

"How is she?"

"Still in surgery. No one has news." Stan placed a hand on Marshall's shoulder.

"How are you?"

"I can't do this, again, Stan. I can't."

"Why don't you change, grab a soda or a coffee and, uh, try to relax a little, okay?" Marshall nodded and headed through the hallway towards the restrooms. Stan sighed and entered the waiting room, greeted by the red, tear-stained eyes of Mary's mother.

"Have you heard anything?" she asked.

"No, I'm sorry I haven't." He placed an arm around her shoulders and guided her to the nearest chair. "Can I get anything for you?"

"No, thank you," Jinx smiled softly as they sat. "Just my daughter in good health."

_"It was a bad neighborhood," Marshall said through clenched teeth. "A bad situation from the get-go. The witness should never have been allowed to move there. Mary should never have been put in that position." Stan nodded. "Managing a witness over whom she had no authority."_

_ "I know, I know. I shouldn't have allowed it," Stan said quietly._

_ "I should have stayed." Marshall took a deep breath. "I saw what was going on there. It just didn't occur to me."_

_ "Why should it?" Stan asked. "It's Mary. She's like…" He sighed. "I don't know."_

_ "I know." He wiped away his tears._

_ "Fierce, you know?" Stan said after a moment. "Like she's always going to be the toughest dog in the fight." He offered a small but proud smile._

_ "Boxers call it the air of invincibility."_

_ "That's exactly it."_

_ "All great fighters have it."_

_ "Yeah."_

_ "Right up to the minute they're beaten." Stan watched helplessly as Marshall broke into tears again._

Stan took a deep breath. He looked around the room. Brandi and Peter sat quietly across from him, Brandi holding her son. Mark sat on the other side of Jinx, reading quietly to Norah. He thought about how much Mary's relationship with these people had changed in the years since her first shooting, how strong and loving the bonds had grown to be. He thought about how lost they would all be without her.

"Marshall was with Mary when it happened," Stan said quietly. "I know he took good care of her. And, there are good doctors in this hospital," he continued.

_ "You okay?" Stan asked as he met Mary in the middle of the street._

_ "I'm fine," she sighed. "Stan, it's Marshall." Mary glanced towards the SUV with watery eyes. "It's bad. It's really bad." Stan put a supporting hand on Mary's arm._

_ "Okay. Well, you got him here alive and they can do amazing things," he comforted. "Okay?"_

"They can do amazing things."

**^m*m^**

_ "Here she is," the nurse announced happily as she wheeled the bassinet into a small room off the nursery. "This is a big day, huh?" she smiled._

_ "Yeah," Mary answered. "I haven't been able to hold her yet." The nurse moved the bassinet to the side of Mary's chair and carefully picked up Norah. "I'm a little nervous."_

_ "You'll do just fine," she assured as she placed the little girl in Mary's arms. "How does it feel?"_

"_It feels…incredible," Mary answered with a smile._

"_She was just fed so she'll probably be sleepy. If you have any questions or need any help, give me a holler. I'll be right in the next room." As the nurse left, Mary sat back in the rocking chair, holding Norah close to her chest._

_ "Hi, Bug," she said softly. "It's nice of you to finally spend some time with me." Mary put her index finger in Norah's hand, eyes tearing as the little fingers tightened around her own. "I've done a lot of thinking over the last few months. I'm not sure how to do this, how to be your mother. But, I'm going to do my best." She watched Norah's lips pucker into a soft 'ooh' and frowned when she felt a wet warmth soak through her sleeve. "Seriously?" Mary said with a shake of her head. "You peed on me."_

"Holy fuck," Mary whispered with a hoarse voice. She opened her eyes squinting through the bright lights above her. She shifted trying to get more comfortable in her somewhat up-right position. Her vision slowly came into focus on the man standing next to the bed. He lowered the metal clipboard, allowing her a better view of his face.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Dr. Bronstein smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Christ," she mumbled. "Are you going to be here every time I get shot?"

"How many times are you planning on this happening?" he asked curiously.

"Third time's the charm, right, Doc?" she smiled weakly.

"And, there's that Shannon humor I've come to love so much." Dr. Bronstein rolled his eyes. "Are you in pain?" Mary gingerly shook her head.

"Not much." He reached over her head, bringing down a long, grey cord.

"Here's the morphine drip," he said, placing the button in her hand. "You know the drill."

"How bad am I?"

"Not as bad as last time. The bullet entered here," he started, pointing to a spot just above his right hip. "And, exited here." He turned his back to her, pointing to his side. "The entry and exit wounds are clean so scaring to the epidermis should be superficial. The projectile pierced the subcutaneous layer of cellulite as well as the external abdominal oblique. Though muscular damage was minimal." Dr. Bronstein brought his clip board to his chest and crossed his arms over the object. "A quarter of an inch to the left and we would have been looking at possible kidney or liver damage." Mary stared blankly at him. "In English?" he smirked.

"If it's not too much trouble."

"It went right through the fat."

"Please tell me you didn't use those words around Marshall," she grumbled.

"No, uh, actually, _he_ used those words."

"Perfect," Mary coughed. Dr. Bronstein handed her a Styrofoam cup of water, waiting patiently as she took a slow drink.

"I'll be back in a little bit to check on you. The nurses will be in and out." He set the cup on the table and gently placed his hand over hers. "Why don't you go back to sleep for a little bit. I'm going to let your family know you're awake."

"Is Marshall here?"

"He was the last time I spoke to everyone."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure. But, not too long of a visit, all right?"

**^m*m^**

"Mare?" Marshall called quietly as he closed the door and approached the bed.

"Hey, Doofus," she smiled softly. "You look like hell."

"Yeah, well." He leaned the heels of his palms on the edge of the bed, tilting his head as he looked down at her. He forced down the sick feeling in his stomach as he took in the paleness of her skin. He reminded himself that she was alive and awake and in much better condition than during her previous shooting. "You ruined my new blue shirt."

"Did I bleed on you?" she asked, a sparkle of mischief in her tired eyes.

"You and I were supposed to have a talk. This…" He frowned and motioned to her stomach. "This is going a little too far to get out of that talk, don't you think?"

"I considered shooting you," she said, tilting her head to the side. "But, that's a lot of paperwork I don't want to do." Marshall smiled. "Where's Norah?"

"She's at Mark's. He brought her in to see you just a little bit ago."

"Wasn't awake yet."

"I know. I'm sorry. Mark didn't think it would be good for her to sleep here all night," he explained. "Once we knew you were going to be all right, Mark and Peter left with the kids." Mary nodded.

"Krista?"

"Relocated," he answered. "We had cameos in a bad episode of 'When Boyfriends Attack'."

"Seriously? I got shot because of some douche bag boyfriend?" Marshall nodded. "Wonderful." She took a slow breath. "Are Mom and Brandi still here?"

"Yeah. They've agreed not to visit you until tomorrow as long as they get a good report from me," he smiled.

"Thank you," she said, meeting his eyes. "I want to see them but…" Mary sighed. "I just don't know if I can handle it right now."

"Tired?" His fingers trailed softly across her forehead, brushing the stray wisps away from her face.

"Nah. Feel like I could run a marathon." Marshall laughed.

"_Don't_ do this, again," he said quietly.

"No promises." Marshall smiled gently and leaned down, pressing his lips against hers.


	14. Chapter 14

**a/n:** Thank you **SO **very much for reading and reviewing this story! Y'all have made this my most followed and most favorited story. How exciting!

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Mary!" Marshall scolded. "Come on. Put that down." He moved away from the table and took a few steps towards her.

"No, Marshall," she said, turning away from him as he reached for the plates in her hands. "I've got this, okay?"

"No, it's not okay." Marshall settled behind her, carefully wrapping an arm around her hips as he took the plates from her. "You are supposed to be relaxing."

"I can set the damned table. It's not going to kill me," she countered, turning in his arms to face him.

"Mare," he sighed. "You promised to let me take care of supper tonight."

"Two plates, Marshall."

"No plates, Mary."

"They're not heavy. I can lift them."

"It's not the weight. It's the lifting your arms and stretching your muscles to get them from the cupboard." Marshall put the plates on the counter top and positioned his body between them and Mary. He tilted his head to the side, daring her to argue.

"All right," she conceded with a roll of her eyes. "I'll sit."

"Thank you." He followed her to the kitchen table, setting the plates next to the utensils he had already placed.

"You're all ridiculous. Acting like I've been shot," she mumbled as she dropped into the chair.

"You _were_ shot."

"Well, not as badly as last time."

"Still shot, Mare." Marshall leaned his hands over the back of an empty chair. "You're still upset about the pie, aren't you?" he observed.

"Pie?" she asked innocently. "Oh, you mean the pie I didn't get? Nope, not angry about that at all."

"Mary, we've been over this. I _did_ bring the pie."

"But, I didn't get it, did I?"

"It's not my fault, all right? Dr. Bronstein ordered the nurses to pat me down before letting me into your room."

"Bet you liked that," she teased.

"Yes," he drawled, a wicked smile on his face. "Nothing I love more than being manhandled by a bunch of women." He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "And, really, if you need to place the blame on someone, you should blame yourself."

"Blame myself?" Mary scoffed. "_I_ was the one in bed with a big hole in my side, Marshall. I was hardly in any condition to be the cause of anything."

"This time," he nodded in agreement. "But, I'm talking about last time. That's when this all started. If I remember correctly, and I know I do," he said, tapping a finger to his temple, "you were the reason Dr. Bronstein and the nursing staff found out about the pie."

"No, _you_ were," she argued. "You didn't do a very good job of sneaking it into my room."

"Mare, I wouldn't have been caught if you wouldn't have told the nurse I brought it." Mary remained quiet for a moment.

_ "Oh, my…Marshall." Mary closed her eyes as her lips closed around the plastic fork. "This is the best piece of apple pie ever made, Marshall," she said around a full mouth. "The best. Fucking epic."_

_ "I'm glad you're enjoying it," he laughed, taking a bite of his slice as Mary dug the fork into hers again._

_ "If I died right now, I'd die a very, __**very**__ happy person."_

_ "Well, according to your doctor, you're going to live." He pointed his fork at her. "Don't put so much pressure on the moment it's supposed to happen." Mary shook her head and swallowed._

_ "The pressure's on you, Numb Nuts. I expect you to bring me a slice of pie this good when I'm actually __**on**__ my death bed."_

_ "And, if I don't deliver?"_

_ "I'll haunt you until you're on __**your**__ death bed," she answered, eyes narrowed. Marshall nodded and reached for his can of 7-up._

_ "Here's to hoping I go first," he said, lifting the can into the air. Mary lifted hers and completed the toast._

_ "Keep up that smart-ass attitude and you will."_

_ "Hello, Mary." Jennifer entered the room with a soft knock. "I'm just starting my shift, thought I'd come see how my favorite patient is doing," she smiled._

_ "Oh, I am…I am really doing well today," Mary smiled back._

_ "It's not quite lunch time," Jennifer said, frowning at the sight of Mary's pie. "Did one of the other nurses bring you an early meal?"_

_ "No, my most awesome friend Marshall did." Jennifer turned her gaze to Marshall and firmly set her hands on her hips, raising a scolding eyebrow._

_ "Did he?" Marshall sighed and dropped his eyes._

"Well, I was excited," she said. "It was a damned good piece of pie."

"So you're admitting it was your fault there was no pie this time around?"

"I don't think that's what I said."

"I had good intentions, Mary."

"Well, you know what they say about the road to Hell, right, Marshall?"

"Enjoy the ride but pull over when Mary Shannon wants to pass?" he laughed.

"Ha ha, Douche Bag. Funny." Mary looked at her hands as she nervously played with the tips of her fingers. "I was scared this time, Marshall," she said quietly. "Well, I was scared last time, too, but…I was _really_ scared this time." He took a seat and reached out to still her hands. "I don't remember most of what happened the first time. I was out as soon as I was hit. This time…there was too much time to think." She looked at him. "What would happen to Norah?"

"Mark and Joanna, and Jinx and Brandi would all take good care of her," Marshall offered. Mary nodded.

"But, no little girl should have to grow up without her mother. I know how hard that is."

"Mare, you can't focus on that. You lived to fight another day. That's all that matters." His eyes dropped as he spoke, the pain of his words evident on his face despite his effort to hide it. Mary turned her hand over, pressing her palm to his as her fingers wrapped around his hand.

"How did you do it, Marshall? With Abigail? H-how did you make it through that?" she whispered.

"I…I didn't have a choice, Mare. I think about the good things and…" He took a deep breath. "I am thankful for the time we had." His features softened but remained saddened. "She wasn't in any pain. She was unconscious well before she was taken to the hospital. It helps to know that she didn't…that she didn't suffer." Mary nodded softly. In the week since her shooting, she had wondered several times if Abigail had been aware of her fate, hoping the young detective had not endured that frightening confusion. "There's no point in dwelling on what could have been," he said, reaching forward to brush his fingers across her cheek. "That only serves to make you forget what was. What is." The oven timer sounded and Marshall cleared his throat. "I hope you're hungry," he said as he stood.

"I'm starving. Three days of hospital food," she said, making a face. "And, I haven't eaten much since I've been home." She eyed the lasagna Marshall pulled from the oven. "Why didn't you come to make supper for me when I was shot the first time?"

"You had Jinx and Brandi and Raph here to take care of you," he answered. "I didn't think you needed or wanted one more person doting over you."

"I didn't want the three of _them_ doting over me, but, I think I could've handled you." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "God, that smells _so_ good." Marshall moved to her side, placing a potholder in the middle of the table before setting down the hot dish. "Next time I take a bullet, you are definitely spending my recovery in my kitchen."

"Next time?" He dug the spatula into the lasagna and put a piece on Mary's plate.

"A girl's gotta have goals, Marshall," she said as she wrapped her fingers around her fork.

**^m*m^**

Marshall couldn't remember the name of the movie they were watching, having paid very little attention to it after Mary laid her head on his shoulder. He had moved his arm to lay behind her, his fingers rubbing gentle circles through the fabric of her sleeve just above her elbow. He had been watching her for a long time as she stared at the floor, all too still and quiet for his liking. Mary frowned and shifted slightly, Marshall recognizing the movement as opening to talk. He reached across his body with his free hand and brushed her hair behind her ear.

"What are you thinking about, Mare?" he asked gently.

"It's quiet without Norah here," she answered. "I miss her."

"I know. But, the doctor said no lifting for a few weeks. You can't take care of her if you can't pick her up." Mary adjusted her position again and Marshall could feel the wince of pain shoot through her body.

"Joanna's been bringing Norah over around lunch time. I get to play with her for a bit before nap time."

"Hers or yours?" he joked.

"Both," Mary smiled softly.

"You know, I could spend the night here. Maybe Friday night," he suggested. "You can have the time with Norah and I can help you take care of her." Mary leaned her head back against his arm and looked at him.

"I'm not going to ask you to do that, Marshall. She gets up at least three times during the night. You won't get any sleep."

"Mare, you're not asking me to do anything. I'm offering."

"What are you going to do with Oscar?" she asked. "No offense, but, he's excitable and I don't want him jumping on me."

"I don't, either. My neighbor can watch him for the night. She loves having Oscar around."

"Marshall, I don't know…"

"So Norah wakes up in the middle of the night." He shrugged with his free shoulder. "Oscar has the smallest bladder of any dog. I take him out sometimes five times at night."

"Again, with the comparing animals to children."

"Taking care of a pet is really no different than taking care of a child," he started. "They both have the same basic needs and training points."

"Yeah," Mary said with a roll of her eyes.

"They do," he defended. "Take potty training, for example."

"Oh, God."

"Training a dog to do his business-"

"Don't say 'do his business'."

"—outside instead of inside is no different in technique than teaching a child to use the bathroom instead of a diaper." Marshall looked at Mary. "Practice, patience and positive reinforcement."

"The three _p's_ of potty training. Very funny."

"Sustenance, baths, doctor appointments, vaccinations, toys and play time," he continued. "The only difference is that I won't have to spend thousands of dollars to send Oscar to college."

"You are such an idiot," she smiled. Marshall shrugged again.

"Well, if you don't think that I can handle it…" he started, purposely baiting her. Mary put a hand on Marshall's thigh as she pushed herself into a sitting position.

"All right. I'll take you up on your offer. But, when this all blows up in your face, I get to sing the song."

"Fine. And, when it doesn't blow up in my face?" he asked. "I don't know if the song will be enough to stroke my ego."

"Don't say…ugh. I can't even repeat it," she laughed. "It's Tuesday. You have plenty of time to think about your _fictitious_ prize." Marshall nodded and looked at his watch.

"I should get going. It's late."

"It's eight-thirty. That's not late."

"It is for someone who needs her rest," he pointed out. "I'm willing to help, Mare, but I'm not taking care of your crack-ass witnesses forever." They stood and Mary followed him to the front door.

"Thanks for supper, Marshall. You're welcome to come back and cook anytime." He nodded and slipped his jacket over his shoulders. Mary dropped her eyes and shoved her hands into her pockets. "We were supposed to talk." Marshall settled his hand along her neck.

"We will. You need to get yourself better, first."

"Yeah." He leaned towards her and gently lowered his lips to hers. As Mary lifted her hands, resting them on his arms, he stepped into her, keeping the kiss soft as he slipped an arm around her hips. Gently, he pressed their bodies together. "Marshall," she whispered as he released her mouth with a content sigh.

"Go to bed, Mare," he said, resting his forehead against hers. "I'll see you tomorrow after work."

**^m*m^**

"How is our blonde inspector holding up?" Stan asked, resting the heels of his hands on the front of Marshall's desk.

"She's hanging in there. Crawling up the walls but, hanging in there." He shuffled through his papers.

"It's only been a week and a few days," Stan commented. "How is she going to last another two weeks?" Marshall shrugged.

"I've been feeding her bits of information about her witnesses. It's holding her over for now," he smiled.

"Hey, Chief," Delia greeted as she approached the desk. "Are you ready, Marshall?"

"I am," he answered as he stood. "Delia and I are headed out to see the Jorgensens."

"Ah, that's right. Brand new babies," Stan smiled. "A boy and a girl, right?"

"Right."

"Well, send me a picture and give them my congratulations."

**^m*m^**

"Yeah," Marshall answered as he steered the SUV into a left turn. "It's been hard on her. But, everyone's been chipping in to help out and they've been bringing Norah over for visits."

"It's nice that Mary has such a good family," Delia said. "I know things haven't always been that way for her."

"No, they haven't."

"How have you been? With all of this?" Marshall glanced at Delia.

"I'm all right. I'm staying at Mary's tomorrow night. Helping her out with Norah so they can spend some time together."

"That's really very sweet of you."

"Thank you."

"But, that's not what I meant." Marshall remained quiet. "I don't mean to intrude, but, don't lie to me and tell me that this has been easy on you. I know you and Mary are very close. And, after everything that…that happened with Abigail…" Delia dropped her eyes for a moment. "I'm just worried about you," she shrugged.

"I take it one day at a time, Delia," he smiled softly. "I appreciate your concern, but, I really am all right." She studied him for a few moments as they drove through the quiet neighborhood. Marshall looked at her when she started to giggle. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," she answered.

"No, no. Something has you all…silly over there. What's so funny?" he repeated.

"You're going to take care of Norah all night?" He nodded.

"Mary can't pick her up and she should be careful while holding her." Marshall parked the vehicle next to the curb and turned off the engine. "What?" he asked at her continued giggling. "You don't think I can handle it, do you?"

"I didn't say that."

"Mary said that," he frowned. Delia laughed harder.

"Oh, someone's going to be singing the song, aren't they?"

**^m*m^**

"Norah," Mark called as he and Marshall entered the living room. "Look who's here!" Norah rolled onto her stomach and slid off the couch, running towards Marshall.

"Bee!" she smiled. She lifted her arms, book in hand, and waited for Marshall to pick her up.

"Hello, Sweetheart." Norah held the book between their faces. "What do we have here?" He took the book and looked at the cover. "'The Cat in the Hat'." She clapped her hands.

"It's her favorite book. Well, it is now that 'Fox in Socks' has gone missing," Mark said.

_ "Here, have a book." Mary tossed the book on Marshall's desk as she passed. He picked it up and frowned._

_ "'Fox in Socks'?"_

"_For your love of all things literary."_

"_Hmm…'Thank you' just doesn't seem to be appropriate here."_

_ "Funny," Mary said as she sat behind her desk. "It's Norah's favorite book. I think I read that damned thing seven times before bed last night."_

_ "Seven times?"_

_ "Yeah. And, seven the night before that. And, the night before that, and, the night before that. She cries as soon as it's finished and we have to go through the whole thing again." She ran her hand through her hair and sighed. "I can't take it anymore."_

_ "Oh, come on, Mare," he laughed. "It can't be that bad." Mary placed her hands on her desk and glared at Marshall._

_ "'Ben's band. Bim's band. Big bands. Pig bands. Bim and Ben lead bands with brooms. Ben's band bangs and Bim's band booms. Pig band! Boom band! Big band! Broom band! My poor mouth can't say that. No, Sir. My poor mouth is much too slow, Sir.'" The words flawlessly passed over Mary's lips and she offered a prissy smile. Marshall smirked._

_ "'Well then…Bring your mouth this way,'" he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. "'I'll find it something it can say.'"_

_ "Wow." Mary nodded slowly. "If this book wasn't already ruined for me, that pervish comment would have done the trick."_

"Missing, huh?" Marshall raised his eyebrows. "Strange."

"Are you sure that Mary's in shape to handle this tonight?" Mark asked. "I don't want her doing something that's going to set back her recovery."

"She'll be fine," Marshall assured him. "I'll be there and I won't let her do anything she shouldn't be doing." Mark nodded as he watched Marshall play with his daughter.

"I don't know how you talked her into this. I offered to stay at the house but she made it very clear that wasn't going to happen," he laughed. "She won't let Jinx or Brandi stay with her, either."

"Well, you know Mary and her stubbornness. I set out a challenge. I knew she wouldn't be able to refuse with a bet tagged to the suggestion."

"Nice strategy," Mark nodded. "I didn't think of that one." But, he was no fool, knowing Mary would not have welcomed a challenge from anyone but Marshall. In light of the gossip Brandi had been feeding him, Mark was sure Mary would have allowed Marshall's presence if he had simply asked. "Come on." He patted Marshall on the back. "I'll get the car seat for you."

**^m*m^**

Norah threw her book on the couch and worked to crawl her pajama-clad body onto the cushions. She sat next to Mary with a 'plunk', her chubby little legs curled in front of her.

"Boo-boo?" she asked, looking at Mary.

"Yeah. Mom has a boo-boo," Mary nodded. Norah used her mother's leg to push herself to her feet. She leaned over Mary's shoulder, placing a wet, open-mouthed kiss on Mary's cheek. "Aw, thank you, Bug. I feel all better now." Norah dropped to the cushions and grabbed her book.

"Story time?" Marshall smiled as he sat on the other side of Norah.

"Yeah," Mary groaned. "This book might be joining your collection soon."

"Oh, Mary," he said, shaking his head. "You should be encouraging her interest in reading."

"I do encourage it," she said. "What I don't encourage is the very narrow selection of reading material."

"Repetition is good for children," Marshall said, picking up the book. Norah crawled into his lap, settling her head against his chest as his arms encircled her, protective, gentle. Natural, Mary thought. "'The sun did not shine. It was too wet to play'," Marshall started as he displayed the open book in front of Norah. Mary watched her daughter relax against him. After the first few pages of the book, Norah's arms fell to her sides and she yawned. Without moving his eyes from the book, Marshall adjusted his arm around her back, gently bouncing the little one into slumber. Norah's eyes fluttered to a quick close. She took a deep breath, releasing a slow, unwinding sigh. Mary held back a smile and leaned forward slightly so she could see her daughter's face.

"Way to bore her to sleep, Marshall," she said quietly as she stood.

"I'm sure I did not _bore_ her to sleep. I have a very soothing reading voice." Marshall placed the book on the coffee table and smiled smugly. He slipped his arms under Norah's knees and stood. Mary shook her head and moved through the house to Norah's bedroom, turning on the small lamp on the dresser as she entered. She reached over the side of the crib, pulling back the light purple blanket. Marshall stood next to Mary, turning so she could kiss her daughter's forehead.

"Good night, Bug," she whispered. "Love you." He carefully laid Norah on her back, smiling as she squirmed into a more comfortable position on her side, pushing a small hand under her cheek. "She's too big, Marshall," Mary said quietly, tucking the blanket around Norah's sleeping form.

"That's a sign that it's time for another one," he said over her shoulder. She bent her arm and sent her elbow into his stomach. "Umph." Mary rubbed her hand over the top of Norah's head, whispering one more 'good night' before turning towards Marshall. She placed her hand on his chest and pushed him backwards through the doorway.

"I warned you," she said, closing the door behind her. "No more talk about having twelve kids." Marshall rubbed his stomach.

"I didn't say anything about having _twelve_. I think you took advantage of an undue opportunity."

"Whatever," she smiled. Making her way back into the living room, she reclaimed her place on the couch. "Marshall, thank you," she said as he sat to her right.

"For what?"

"For taking care of Norah."

"It's my pleasure," he smiled.

"I hope she keeps you up all night."

"You know," Marshall started, shifting his position to face Mary. "I brought something for us to share while we watch the movie. If you keep picking on me, you won't get any."

"Ooh! Did you bring pie?" she asked excitedly.

"Maybe." Mary bit her bottom lip, wondering just how quickly she could get to her feet and into the kitchen. Marshall, recognizing the look of wicked determination on her face, sent out a warning. "Don't try it, Mare. I'm faster than you on a good day and, right now, you're all gimpy."

"I am not gimpy."

"You won't make it," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, you're right." Mary pulled the blanket from the back of the couch, covering her legs as she brought them up onto the cushions. "So, what movie are we watching?"

"'The House'."

"Nothing beats a good old cheesy horror flick." Marshall nodded his agreement and reached for the remote on the coffee table. As he bent forward, Mary threw the blanket over his head and jumped off the couch.

"Mary!" he snarled. He freed himself from the offending piece of fabric, draping it over his shoulder as he took off after her. "That wasn't very nice." Mindful of her injury, he caught her with a tight arm around her hips.

"Let me go, Marshall," she laughed as she struggled to free herself from his hold.

"Nope." He guided them to the cupboards, turning her and pushing her against the countertop. "I'm not sharing now." Mary pushed against his chest and then his arms as he laid the heels of his palms on the edge of the counter, keeping her in place.

"Marshall," she said sweetly. "I'm your best friend. Don't you want to share your pie with your best friend?" He watched her bat her eyelashes and was no longer able to hold back his laughter.

"Best friends don't try to steal the pie before it's offered, Mary." He stepped back, pulling the blanket from his shoulder. "Best friends would wait in kind." Marshall slipped the blanket behind Mary. She raised her hands in an effort to bat him away, but his fingers quickly clutched the edges of the blanket as they came together in front of her. Once he had her tightly cocooned, he pulled her close, brushing his lips lightly against hers.

"Best friends don't kiss, Marshall," Mary whispered softly.

"Yeah, well…I hate you," he breathed as he leaned in to complete the action.

**^m*m^**

"You know I can't share all of the details with you, Squish," Mary said as she sat on the couch. "And, I'm not trying to make excuses for his choices. But…Dad _did_ leave to protect us. The people he was working with…It would have been a bad situation all the way around." Brandi frowned, not sure how to process the bits of incomplete information. Mary leaned forward and grabbed a piece of paper from the coffee table. "But, that's not why I asked you to come over. I have something I need to give you." She unfolded the paper, absently staring at the words. "I was going to wait until Breindel turned one, but, in light of my recent shooting, I think we should do this now." Mary shrugged. "Just in case I don't have another opportunity." She handed the paper to Brandi, Peter looking over his wife's shoulder.

"What is this?" she asked lightly.

"It's a bank account I opened for Breindel. Remember the rent money you were giving me?"

"Okay," Brandi said. "I know I'm not the best at math, but this is way more than I paid in rent."

"Yeah, about that." Mary cleared her throat. "Dad left some money for Norah. A lot of money. I think if he would have known Breindel was on the way…" She shrugged. "So, I put half of it in Toad's account."

"Mary," Peter started.

"It's clean," she nodded, answering his question before he could ask. "Marshall has a…a friend. He checked it out. It's-it's clean."

"But…Dad never did anything to help us. Why-why this? Why now?" The irritation in her voice was thick and Mary knew she would have to offer a few of the details she had hoped to spare her sister.

"He came back to say 'good-bye', Squish. He was dying." Mary sat back into the couch. "I think this was his way of asking for forgiveness for leaving us."

"Asking for forgiveness with money?" Brandi scoffed.

"I know. I said I wasn't making excuses. I certainly don't think this was the way to do it, but, it's what we have."

"I don't know if I can accept this, Mary. I mean…It's just…" Brandi looked at her sister.

"I get it, Squish."

"The money isn't important," Peter said, gently rubbing Brandi's shoulder. "I think the sentiment behind it is what Mary is offering, Honey."

"I know." She set the paper in her lap. "Thank you, Mary. You didn't have to do this. But, this is going to take some time to…you know." Mary nodded. "Everyone is trying to make amends. Mom with her time with the kids, Dad with this. I don't know how to feel about it."

"Know that somewhere, deep down, James Shannon did love his family," Mary said. She smiled gently as she took Brandi's hand. "It certainly wouldn't be the first time this family has shown love in a less than normal way." Brandi nodded and met Mary's eyes.

"He was dying?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," Mary whispered. "He…he was dying."

"Is…But, you said he was…he was shot."

"Squish...He was." Mary released a frustrated sigh. "I can't tell you why."

"This is hard, Mary. I didn't know him. I always…I guess I always hoped that I would be able to meet him one day." Brandi wiped a few tears from her eyes. "Now, he's gone and…I can't…What am I supposed to think about a man didn't know?" Mary turned her eyes to Peter.

"Why don't I let the two of you talk privately?" He kissed Brandi's cheek. "I'll call Mom and see how Breindel is doing." When Peter disappeared into the kitchen, Mary moved closer to her sister.

"Okay. Listen carefully to what I'm going to tell you," she started. "Nothing…_nothing_ I say can be repeated. Ever. Not to Mom. Not to Peter. Not even to me." Brandi nodded. "Dad had cancer, Squish. He was dying and he came back to set things straight and to say good-bye. He was involved with some bad people, who he managed to royally piss off, and that is the reason that Scott was murdered."

"I know about that part. God, Mary. He let them kill his son!"

"No, Squish, he didn't _let_ them do anything. But, trust me when I tell you that he took matters into his own hands and those people got what they deserved."

"Did he kill them?" she asked in a whisper.

"I can't tell you." Mary watched her sister's face carefully as the pieces came together. "These people…they caught up with Dad while he was here in Albuquerque. Blah blah over some more things I can't say. I was with him when they started shooting. Dad pulled me out of the way, Squish. He took those bullets."

"He saved you?"

"He saved me."

"Hmm." Brandi turned away from Mary and leaned back into the cushions of the couch. "That's…that's a lot to think about."

"It is. And, I'm not saying you should feel anything one way or the other, but you should know…you should know the good he tried to do as well as the bad he did do." Brandi straightened suddenly and fell into her sister's arms.

"He saved you," she said, crying over Mary's shoulder. "Maybe that should be enough for me to forgive the things he did and didn't do…I don't know if it is. But, I'm glad he was there, Mary. I'm glad he took care of you."

**^m*m^**

"I don't know," Mary said, leaning against the counter. "I think she took it harder than she was letting on."

"Understandable," Marshall nodded. "Brandi was kind of left out in the cold with all of this."

"I know. Sometimes I wish that she had been older when Dad left. You know? Then she might have had something good to remember." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "But, I kind of envy her. Not knowing him…" She shook her head and moved to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of water.

"Did you tell your mom about the money?"

"No," Mary answered. "I haven't decided if I'm going to. If Brandi thinks Dad was trying to buy our affection, then I can only imagine what Jinx would think." She shrugged. "We should get going. We don't want to be late." Marshall pulled the Isotopes baseball cap off the table and slipped it onto Mary's head. "Marshall."

"What?" he asked, putting on his own cap. "Showing our love, Mary. Showing our love." He tipped the brim of her cap, covering her eyes. "Did you know that the Isotopes are nearing a decade of play in Albuquerque?" he asked as they moved through the house. She stopped at the front door, hand on the doorknob, and turned towards Marshall.

"Don't waste all of your trivia now," she cautioned. "Be sure to save some for the game."

"Oh, don't worry. I have plenty of interesting factoids for the drive there, the game and the drive home," he assured her. Mary dropped her head.

"That's what I was afraid of," she mumbled.


	15. Chapter 15

**a/n:** A little farther through this chapter, Mary goes on a bit of a rant. I borrowed the fairy tale soliloquy from "Drag Me to Hell" and turned it into a conversation. After all, no one says the things Mary says like Mary herself. Thank you to JJ2008 for alerting me to the timeline falter. Before posting, I rewrote a few parts of the chapter and didn't think to give two cents to the days. Marshall stayed at Mary's Friday night (the second week after her shooting). The conversation with Brandi happened Saturday, as well as the Isotopes game. This chapter starts at that game then jumps a week to Mary's first day back at work. As to whether or not Mary got her piece of pie…*shrugs with an evil grin*…please read on.

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Fifteen**

Marshall removed his baseball cap, running a hand through his hair as he closed his eyes. He basked in the sun surrounding him, relishing the warmth spreading across his skin. A gentle, slightly humid breeze swept through the stadium, bringing with it the soft scent of fresh grass. _Spring_, Marshall thought with a satisfied smile. It had been too long since he experienced a relaxing Saturday and he was thoroughly enjoying everything the day had to offer.

"_Hey, there, Norah Bean."_

_ "Bee! Bee!" Norah cheered as Marshall pulled her from the crib. As he settled his arm behind her legs, she reached up and ran a hand over his wet hair._

_ "Yeah, Uncle Marshall just got out of the shower," he explained as he pulled a few supplies from the diaper bag._

_ "Ma-ma-ma-ma?" she asked._

_ "Ma-ma-ma-ma is still sleeping," he answered. Norah held her fingers to her mouth. "That's right, we should be quiet," he whispered. "How about we get dressed and then make Mama some breakfast?" Norah nodded, bouncing in his arms. After a quick change into a white t-shirt and pair of pink sweatpants with a matching hoodie, Marshall let Norah lead the way into the kitchen, waddling through the hallway. As he placed Norah in the highchair, he surveyed the room. "How is this spot?" he asked, skirting the highchair across the room. "Now you can be right next to me but away from the stove." He gathered the necessary items, placing a plastic bowl and spoon on the highchair. "Can you stir this for me?" he asked, carefully breaking an egg into the plastic bowl. Norah took to her task eagerly, bringing a smile to Marshall's face._

Time with Norah, surprising Mary with breakfast…It wall would have been enough for him. But, it was a moment right before Mary appeared in the kitchen that Marshall knew would keep him smiling for years to come.

_ "All right, Norah. The bacon is cooked, the eggs are almost done; the bread is in the toaster." Marshall reached towards the sink, grabbing the washcloth. "The only thing left to do is clean up your little work area." He bent over slightly and wiped the cloth along the tray of the highchair, collecting the crumbs from the small chunk of toast he had given her to snack on. _

"_Ma," she said._

"_As soon as we're all cleaned up, we'll wake up Mama." Norah shook her head and he stilled as she lifted her hand, reaching towards his face. She gently placed her hand on his cheek._

_ "Ma," she repeated, with all of the seriousness her little face could muster. Marshall smiled. Norah was not asking for her mother, she was saying his name._

Marshall sighed contently. The morning had been the most perfect to date, the Isotopes were victorious in their game, the weather was beautiful and Marshall was spending a majority of the day with his best friend. Nothing was going to ruin his day.

Not even the blonde woman sitting next to him.

Marshall sensed her shift in position, cringing as that shift brought her closer to his side. Through the straw, she slurped the last of the liquid in her cup; the sucking noises purposely loud and revolting. He let his head roll lazily to his left, opening his eyes to fix Mary with a callous scowl.

"You're obnoxious," he stated.

"I'm not obnoxious. I'm just making sure the three dollars you spent on this drink don't go to waste," she smiled. "Besides, you wouldn't like me as much if I was a sweet and charming kind of girl." Marshall raised his eyebrows.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Shut up." Mary punched his shoulder and turned her attention to the field. The game had ended a little over forty-five minutes earlier, the grounds crew replacing the players, the maintenance crew replacing the fans. Mary made no effort to relinquish her seat at the game's conclusion, a clue to Marshall that something was on her mind. "I know I'm going to regret asking this," she started, eyes still on the field. "What's with the Homer and Marge statues along the concourse?" Marshall nodded slowly. She was requesting time to collect her thoughts.

"They've been here since 2009, Mare. Please tell me that you're not just _now_ noticing them." He gently leaned his shoulder into hers and she smiled softly.

"Of course I noticed. I just…never cared." She looked at him and shrugged sheepishly.

"The Isotopes are originally the Calgary Cannons, from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. In 2002, shortly before the team's relocation, the name 'Isotopes' was chosen." Marshall watched Mary as he spoke. Her eyes dropped from him and focused downwards. "The name has a connection to New Mexico, being that this state houses several scientific and military facilities that focus on nuclear technology, such as Los Alamos National Laboratory and Sandia National Laboratories. But, the name seemed to be more widely recognized from the baseball team on _The Simpsons_."

"The _Springfield_ Isotopes," she supplied, absently raising the cup to her mouth and chewing on the end of the straw.

"Right. In the episode 'Hungry, Hungry Homer', Homer goes on a hunger strike to prevent the Springfield Isotopes from moving to…" He held up a hand. "Wait for it…Albuquerque." Mary looked at him, shaking her head at the smile on his face.

"You are _such _a geek."

"I am not a geek. Besides, you wouldn't like me as much if I was a normal, average-level-of-useless-facts kind of guy."

"Yeah. Are you sure about that?" she laughed.

"Quite," he returned proudly. Mary's smile subsided and she looked again to the field.

"Can we go?"

"Of course. If you're ready." She nodded and stood. Marshall folded his baseball cap, sticking it in his back pocket. As he followed Mary through the stands, he smirked, noticing she had done the same with the cap he had given her. They reached the top of the stairs and Mary's gate slowed, allowing her to walk by Marshall's side.

"Those tickets from Raph…Did you ever take Abigail?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Yeah," he answered carefully. It had been two months since Abigail's death and, though Marshall believed he had come to terms with the direction of their short time together, he knew Mary still felt like she was intruding.

"Did you tell her who they came from?"

"I did." They walked slowly, passing a few minutes in the silence of the near-empty building. "She asked about you and Raph. She was curious when I said the tickets were an engagement gift from your ex-fiancé." Marshall looked to the floor. "I answered what I could without giving too many details."

"There were no details to give, Marshall." Mary smiled gently, quelling his need to apologize unnecessarily. "We dated, he proposed, I said no then said yes." She shrugged. "Then we broke up."

_"Are you friends with Mary's ex?" Abigail inquired._

_ "Uh, I know him, but, no, we are not friends."_

_ "Hmm. Interesting."_

_ "What is?"_

_ "It's interesting that someone you are not friends with would give you an engagement present." Marshall looked at Abigail._

_ "Raph isn't a…a bag guy, Abs. No, we weren't friends, but, he was my partner's fiancé and-" She raised an eyebrow, almost challenging the words to come out of his mouth. "And, he used to get tickets for Mary and I all the time. He was trying to be nice." He put his arm around her shoulders in a gentle hug. "This is nice, isn't it?" he smiled._

_ "Yeah, it's nice," she smiled back. "Baseball was never really my thing. Now, football…I love a good football game." She looked at Marshall. "But, this is nice." Marshall turned his attention to the game, hoping he would not have to field any more questions from his fiancé. "So, this Raph…how…often did he get you tickets?"_

_ "Six or seven games a season," he answered, shrugging slowly._

_ "So you and Mary spent a lot of time here then?"_

_ "I suppose. We didn't always make the games. You know, work and all."_

_ "What else did you and Mary do for fun?"_

"She asked a lot of questions about you and me, too. Didn't she?" Marshall nodded. Mary watched the look that floated across Marshall's face, knowing he was remembering something he probably would not share with her. Though, that didn't stop Mary from asking. "Marshall? Did she make the accusation?" She turned, walking almost sideways as she regarded her partner.

_"So it was just the two of you at the funeral home. Wow. Intimate." They stopped walking and Marshall tightened his grasp on Oscar's leash._

_ "It was her father, Abs. She's my partner."_

_ "Marshall, I need you to remove the phrase 'she's my partner' from your arsenal. I __**know**__ she's your partner."_

_ "My arsenal?" he frowned._

_ "I don't want to be that girl. __**Don't**__ make me that girl. The insecure..." Abigail took a deep breath. "Yes, she's your partner and she is your friend. Your best friend." Marshall raised an eyebrow, curious about the bite that came with those last words._

_ "You've got to understand-"_

_ "When do __**we**__ come first?" she interrupted. "I mean, Marshall, skipping an appointment to meet with our minister?"_

_ "I wasn't skipping."_

_ "Cancelling," she amended, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Last minute because Mary needs you. Again." He couldn't miss the roll of the eyes she barely kept to herself._

_ "Look, Mary and I-"_

_ "I get it," Abigail nodded. "You know what? I don't get it." She shook her head. "I don't even think you do, not really. And, until you do, until you figure this out, I think we need to put any appointments with ministers, any anything with ministers, on hold."_

_ "Abigail…" He faltered for the words to finish his sentence._

_ "Marshall, I love you. This isn't jealousy," she claimed, begging him to understand. "This is important for me, important for you. Just talk to her."_

Marshall did not answer and Mary faced forward again. "So, that's a 'yes'." She stopped walking but Marshall took a few mores steps before he stopped. He dropped his head and placed his hands on his hips, purposely keeping his back to her. "When we talked…on the balcony…" She frowned as she began putting the pieces together. "I thought…But, you told me that's not what Abigail meant." Mary moved to stand in front of him. "What did she say to you, Marshall?"

"Mary, please-"

"What did she say?" He wanted to forget this, needed to forget this. He had set the record straight with Abigail; there was no need to rehash the issue. However, he knew if he did not give Mary an answer, she would bother him until it became a full-blown fight between them. Marshall sighed and lifted his head.

"She wanted to put our wedding on hold," he confessed, looking over her shoulder. "Until…until I talked to you."

"It certainly isn't the first time someone's had the wrong impression of us," she said quietly. "But…"

_"Hey," Eleanor greeted with a smile. "What…what is that?" she asked, stopping her movement across the office as she looked at Marshall's hand._

_ "Uh…" He fumbled for words and looked to Mary, silently asking for her help in answering Eleanor's question. Mary was as caught off guard as he was. "It's an engagement ring. It got stuck on my finger," he said quickly._

_ "You two?" Eleanor face shifted between excitement and shock. "Oh, my God!"_

_ "What? No…" He looked to Mary again, pleading for her to say something._

_ "Stan! Uh, Chief!" Eleanor called, anxiously bouncing on her heels._

_ "What?" Mary shook her head, finally regaining her voice. "No, not us."_

_ "Come on," Eleanor directed Stan to join them. "Come here."_

_ "God, no," Mary huffed. "Raphael, my boyfriend, and I are engaged. Not me and Marshall, you nitwit."_

"Is it?" he asked. "Is it the wrong impression?" She heard the uncertainty in his voice. He had given plenty of thought to the question and had failed to find an answer he could accept wholly. Mary refused to respond, looking away and bringing the straw once more to her mouth.

"I never meant to be a problem," she said after a moment.

"_You _were not the problem, Mary." He watched the doubt wash across her face.

"We're _too_ close," she stated.

"I don't think the being close is the problem, either," he said. "I don't think we know how to handle it the right way." He shook his head. "I don't think we ever did. Our talk on the balcony…"

_"I love you," Marshall said, finally blurting through the awkwardness of the rest of his words._

_ "Oh," Mary whispered._

_ "Not like…I don't mean…You know what I mean."_

"Even…even before that," he stammered.

_"I get that you don't like messy, but maybe messy is what you need. Maybe instead of just __**anyone**__, you should be looking for __**someone**__."_

"I wasn't…"

_"Here's to the best friend I've ever had. Could ever hope to have. A girl for whom no man will ever be good enough. I hope you know that I love you…"_

"I didn't know how…" Marshall walked away from her. For ten years, he had harbored feelings beyond friendship, waiting for the right moment to share them. He needed to stop mincing words. Mary needed to know her place in his life. She needed to know exactly what he felt towards her. Coming back to his partner, he gently took her hands. "Mary, I-"

"Mary? Marshall?" The duo turned, recognizing the smoothly accented voice. Raph walked towards them. "How are you?" he asked, shaking Marshall's hand.

"I've been well, Raph," he answered. "You?"

"Great, great." Raph looked to Mary. "I talked to Brandi last week. She told me about…" He motioned towards her. "How-how are you doing?"

"I'm fine," she smiled softly. "This guy wasn't as good of a shot." Marshall would have taken some delight in the confused look that crossed Raph's face, but he was too angry over the man's unintended interruption.

**^m*m^**

"A little bonding time between daughter and girlfriend, huh?" Marshall asked. Mary nodded as she leaned into the corner of the elevator.

"Yeah, I guess." He reached over, tugging gently on the sleeve of Mary's jacket.

"What bothers you about that?" he inquired gently.

"It's not…it's not that." Mary focused her eyes downwards and shook her head. "I like Anna. She's really nice and she's good with Norah. I just…I missed my bug. I was home for three weeks and I only spent three days with her." Marshall nodded. "And, now I'm back to work, and…"

"And, she's back at Mark's for a week while he's on vacation."

"Yeah." Mary chewed her bottom lip then smiled. "Good thing I have you to keep me company."

"Nice to know I'm good for something," he smiled. The elevator doors opened and Mary followed him to the glass doors of the office.

"There she is!" Stan stood in front of Mary's desk, a large smile on his face. He lifted his arms, spreading them wide as he expected Mary to hug him. She stopped in front of him and tilted her head to the side. He rolled his wrists, motioning her towards him. "Ah, that's better," he said as she accepted the invitation.

"Hi, Stan," she smiled. He held their embrace longer than needed, rubbing a hand over the back of her shoulders.

"I missed you, Kiddo," he said quietly. "Welcome home."

"Mary!" Delia's excitement wafted through the air and she, too, took her turn to welcome Mary back to the office.

"I'm so happy to see you back." Marshall watched Mary gratefully wrap her arms around Delia.

"I'm glad to be back. As much as I hate most of them, I actually _want_ to see my witnesses today."

"Mary, about that," Stan started. "Are you sure you need to be jumping right into-"

"Stan," Mary whined. "I've been stuck in my house for three weeks."

"I know, but-"

"And, I was cleared to be back in the field."

"Yes, I know-"

"Marshall will go with me."

"I will?"

"Yes," she answered with a pointed look in Marshall's direction. Stan looked between his marshals. "We'll stop at Burger King and get you a Whopper. Marshall's treat."

"Hey!" Mary turned to her partner and punched his arm. "My treat," Marshall smiled.

"Extra pickles," she taunted. Stan huffed a sigh and ran his hand over his head. He pointed a stern finger in Marshall's direction.

"Don't let her eat my fries," he directed.

"Thank you, thank you!" Mary threw her arms around Stan's shoulders and loudly kissed his cheek. "Pull your keys out of your pocket, Marshall. Let's go!" As the pair left the office, Delia laughed and gently swatted Stan's arm.

"You didn't really think you'd be able to keep her here, did you, Chief?"

"No," Stan answered with a smile. He put his arm around her shoulders. "Mary is a tough cookie, Delia. An interesting personality. Dealing with her when she wants things done her way…Well, it's a delicate situation."

"You knew she would try to bribe you with Burger King," she accused, eyes narrowed playfully.

"Delia!" He pulled his arm from her shoulder, placing his hands on his hips. "I can't believe you would suggest something like that." She crossed her arms in front of her chest. "All right, all right. Just don't tell Mary my secret."

**^m*m^**

"_Best friends don't try to steal the pie before it's offered, Mary." Marshall stepped back, pulling the blanket from his shoulder. "Best friends would wait in kind." He slipped the blanket behind Mary. She raised her hands in an effort to bat him away, but his fingers quickly clutched the edges of the blanket as they came together in front of her. Once he had her tightly cocooned, he pulled her close, brushing his lips lightly against hers._

"_Best friends don't kiss, Marshall," Mary whispered softly._

"_Yeah, well…I hate you," he breathed as he leaned in to complete the action. He kissed her as softly as he had after their night out. As he moved a hand to the back of her neck, Mary freed her hands from the blanket and gently pushed him back._

"_I don't make a habit out of kissing people who hate me." She slowly opened her eyes. Marshall's hands found the edges of the blanket again and he wound them around Mary's arms. He secured the blanket in one hand and returned the other to her neck. She made no effort to fight his second attempt at captivity, letting him ghost his lips over hers once more._

"_Maybe you should start," he teased, never quite letting his mouth completely cover hers. Mary hummed her complaint and leaned forward to secure the contact. Marshall leaned back and turned his attention to her neck. His fingers curled in her hair, preventing her from turning towards him. "Don't you think?" he whispered in her ear. "Just this once."_

"_Yeah," she sighed as he feathered kisses across her cheek. Marshall pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth and smiled._

"_How about that pie?" he asked, pulling back. He moved to the refrigerator to retrieve their dessert. Mary's arms dropped as far as the blanket wrap would allow._

"_Bastard," she muttered._

Mary closed her eyes and indulged in the memory of that kiss. It should not have been a surprise that Marshall knew exactly how to kiss her, how to hold her. He knew more about her than anyone else, more than she did at times. How often had he told her that he was perceptive of her needs? Clearly, he had not been joking.

"What's wrong with you?" Mary opened her eyes and looked at Marshall.

"What?"

"What's wrong with you? You're…you're…" He frowned as he slowed his truck to a stop at the red light. "I don't know. Happy?"

"Geez, Marshall. You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not a bad thing," he said with a shake of his head. "Just not normal." He turned towards her. "What are you thinking about? What's made you so happy?"

"I'm just glad to be back to work."

"Liar."

"I am _not_ a liar."

"You, Mary Shannon, are happy to be back to work. Happy to be visiting the witnesses you constantly remind me are pains in your ass?" The light turned green and Marshall eased the vehicle through the intersection.

"Is that so hard to believe?" she shrugged.

"Yes, it is." Mary smiled and looked out her window. It wasn't long before they reached the park, Marshall parking the truck under a large tree. He pulled the keys from the ignition and looked at his partner.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm waiting for your answer." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you high?" he joked.

"Holy shit, Marshall." She reached for the Burger King bag and the blanket sitting on the seat between them and left the vehicle.

"Don't eat my fries!" he called after her. She moved to the back of the truck, waiting for him.

"Whatever. You wouldn't order an extra fry if you didn't _want_ to share with me."

"That's where you're wrong." He dropped the gate and offered his hand. She batted it away and hauled herself into the truck bed. "I _don't_ want to share with you. I order the extra fry because I don't get any otherwise."

"You say 'potato', Marshall." Mary placed the bag on top of the cab and turned, surprised to find Marshall so close. She laughed nervously as he pushed her backwards. He snatched the blanket from her hands and gently shook it. Mary's eyes followed its movement as it unfolded between them and Marshall caught the blush that swept across her cheeks. He moved to her side, spreading the blanket over the truck bed, then reached around her for the bag.

"Have a seat."

"Just give me the damned bag, Marshall." She dropped down and leaned against the cab. "Why did we come here for lunch?"

"It's a beautiful day," he shrugged. "Figured a little fresh air would be nice." In truth, he just wanted to spend the time with Mary. He hoped that at some point they would be able to continue the conversation they had started after the baseball game a week earlier. Though waiting for Mary to initiate the talk was no easy task, he knew pushing the matter was not an option. She needed time to process their talk about Abigail. His presence needed to be an invitation. Marshall pulled his fries from the bag, pausing to offer Mary a look of warning.

"Relax, I'm not going to steal your fries," she said, popping one of her own into her mouth.

"So, you still haven't answered my question."

"No, Marshall. I am not high," she answered with a roll of her eyes.

"Not that one," he laughed. "Why are you so happy today?" She looked down at her fry container and held back a smile.

"Because you're sharing your fries with me." She dropped her container into the bag and reached across Marshall to grab his. Wary of aggravating muscles that were still sore, he did not put up a fight. With a triumphant smile, Mary sat back and ate a fry. "See? Happy." Marshall nodded with a frown. "This is why I keep you around, Bucko."

"Keeping you company, feeding you fries…When did my life become so mundane?"

"Don't say 'mundane'. Didn't you tell me once that being around me was exciting? Like riding a roller coaster?" He shook his head.

"I did indeed say being around you was like riding a roller coaster," he admitted. "But, I didn't say it was exciting. I believe my exact words were 'being around you is like riding the upside-down roller coaster from Hell without the benefit of a seatbelt.'"

"Again, you say 'potato'." Marshall watched Mary as she ate another one of his fries. There was only one way he could get his food back, only one way to keep Mary from stealing it a second time. He made a small move, reaching his hand towards her. She immediately moved the container to her left.

"No way," she said. Her right arm went up, elbow bent and pointed towards his chest. Marshall pushed her arm down and leaned over her, placing his hands along the truck bed to either side of her hips. He pressed his lips to hers in a hard kiss, seeking to part her lips beneath his mouth. Mary immediately knew what he was up to and extended her left arm to gain more space between her partner and his fries.

Then Marshall deepened the kiss and Mary dropped her arm, the food forgotten.

**^m*m^**

"It's almost six-thirty," Marshall started, standing in front of Mary's desk. "Do you want to call it a day?" Mary closed the drawer of the filing cabinet and turned towards him.

"You know, I'm not ready to leave," she said. "I think I might just hang out for a while and catch up on some paperwork." Marshall titled his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Norah's at Mark's for the week," she reminded him. "I'm enjoying my release from house arrest and I don't want to go home to…nothing." He nodded and took a seat beside her desk.

"Hand 'em over," he said.

"What?"

"Your files. I've nowhere to be. I'll help." Mary offered a soft smile and sat down, handing Marshall a file folder. She watched as he sifted through the papers, an overwhelming gratefulness of his company washing over her.

"_Ma," Norah said. Mary kept herself hidden in the hallway, peeking carefully around the wall._

"_As soon as we're all cleaned up, we'll wake up Mama." She watched Norah shake her head and was captivated by the fascination in her daughter's eyes. Norah's little fingers settled on Marshall's cheek._

_ "Ma," she repeated. Mary's eyes shifted to the smile on Marshall's face. Norah was not asking for her mother, she was saying his name. Mary quietly made her way back through the hallway and into the bathroom. She wiped the tears from her eyes, thinking about the months she kept a space between her daughter and her partner. That time apart had not fazed either in forming a strong bond. Some relationships, she thought, were just meant to be._

"Marshall? The other night…when you stayed at my house…"

"_Well, if you don't think that I can handle it…" he started, purposely baiting her. Mary put a hand on Marshall's thigh as she pushed herself into a sitting position._

"_All right. I'll take you up on your offer. But, when this all blows up in your face, I get to sing the song."_

_ "Fine. And, when it doesn't blow up in my face?" he asked. "I don't know if the song will be enough to stroke my ego."_

He looked at her, concerned with the smile on her face. "You never did call your prize."

"That's right," he nodded. "It should be a good prize," he said, looking thoughtful. "After all, I did a _wonderful_ job with Norah." He leaned forward, matching her wicked eyes. "Norah slept the night through, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, quit rubbing it in, Asshole." She sat back in her chair. "So, what's it going to be?"

"I don't know. Maybe tomorrow I make you do _my_ paperwork."

"Yeah," Mary sneered. "You'd have to catch me first."

"That's not fair, Mary," he said, scooting to the front edge of the chair. His movement held her attention and she pushed her chair away from the desk. "I won the bet. You _have_ to do my bidding."

"You're _bidding_?" she laughed. "I'm not your slave, Marshall."

"Well, what if that's what I call as my prize?"

"Why can't you just sing the song like a normal person?" she asked as he set the folder on the desk. "Or ask for pie? Or both?" She scrambled to her feet as Marshall stood. "I'd be willing to allow you both." He walked towards her.

"Hmm…That's quite an offer…coming from you."

"Anything for my best friend," she shrugged.

"But, it's not quite enough, Mare." Mary skirted the front of her desk and sprinted through the office. She ran onto the balcony, hiding behind the door in anticipation of Marshall's approach. Her fingers tensed around the doorknob as she formed her plan. Once Marshall was through the doorway, she would go back into the building, locking the door behind her. She smiled widely, thinking of all the things she could say while she taunted him through the window. Maybe she would head home and leave him on the balcony for the night. Mary's thoughts stilled as she realized she could no longer hear Marshall's footsteps. She held her breath, listening carefully but hearing only silence.

"What the hell?" she whispered. She listened again.

Nothing.

Mary carefully slipped around the door, screaming as she came face to face with Marshall. She took a few steps backwards and he closed the door behind him.

"You were gonna lock me out, weren't you?"

"Lock you out? Me? Come on, Marshall," she laughed. "I would never do such a thing."

"You are such a bad liar, Mare," he said, stalking towards her. "Bad, bad, bad."

"Look, just pick your prize so we can go back inside." Marshall knew exactly what he wanted as he advanced and going back inside was not it. Mary let him push her back to the outside wall of the balcony, let him settle his hands on the edge of the wall; let him crowd her personal space. She met his eyes and the reality of the situation presented itself. She could no longer deny to herself what she felt for her partner. And, especially with her quick surrender to his kiss in the truck, she certainly wasn't fooling him. Marshall deserved her honest answer.

"You scare the hell out of me, Marshall."

"I'm not going to toss you over the edge, Mare," he smiled.

"Doofus, shut your pie hole," she said, poking his side. "Let me finish." He nodded and waited for her to continue. "You scare the hell out of me."

"You already said that."

"Well, you do."

"Why? Because I love you?"

"Marshall…" She shook her head and looked down.

"Mare." Marshall slipped his finger under his chin and lifted her eyes. "Mary, I love you; you know that," he said quietly. "But…I _love you_ love you." She took a slow breath. In the most sacred part of her heart, she had always known the declaration to be true, but hearing the words still surprised her. "I have for a very long time but, I just didn't know…" He sighed gently. "There was never a right time."

"I don't want to lose you, Marshall. I lost you once and I can't do it a second time."

"I never wanted that to happen, Mare. It killed me," he said softly.

"I know," she whispered. "Me, too." They separated and he took a few steps to the side.

"H-how did we get there?" he asked, looking over the wall into the city. "What the hell happened to us?"

"We tried to be…not us," she answered with a shrug. Marshall turned to her, curious as to how she defined their relationship.

"What are we, Mare?"

"What if we try this…a-and it doesn't work?" she asked, ignoring his question. "I can't promise you a fairy tale ending, Marshall," she whispered. He saw the spark light in her eyes, knowing her fear was rapidly building.

"I don't want-"

"I mean, let's face it," she interrupted. "'Happily ever-after' is a crock. It's a con. A-a shell game for the sucker on the street."

"Mary-"

"They're just words, Marshall, _pretty_ words. The equally empty book-end to 'once upon a time'."

"Mary-" he tried again, his voice slightly more forceful as he tugged on her arm to prevent her on-coming rant.

"Our lives are not determined by some storybook, star-crossed destiny," she continued. "They're not determined by what we're told is meant to be. Our lives are determined by dumb luck, the actions _we_ take and the courage _we_ summon at our moment of truth." As she poked his chest to accentuate her words, Marshall realized he would have to let her unload her thoughts before he could speak. "Life does not a happy ending make, Marshall. Real life doesn't come with 'the end' in gilded cursive on the very last page. Our stories never end. 'Happily ever-after', for most of us, is really just the beginning. Things change and-and then there's a-a million ever-afters in everybody's lives. Because every time you think you've reached the finish line, the gun goes off again." She looked down to her side. "See?" Mary lifted the hem of her shirt, revealing the small patch of gauze still taped to her skin.

"Are you finished?" Marshall took her hand, gently returning her shirt to its rightful orientation.

"What?"

"Are you_ finished_?"

"Yeah, I-I think I am."

"Good. Mary," Marshall started, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I'm not looking for a fairy tale happily ever-after ending. Life is full of unknowns and an infinite number of possibilities. I know that." He stepped closer to her, keeping their eyes locked. "I just want now, Mary. _Now_. Just you and me, living the moment we're in. Living each moment as it comes." He settled a hand along her neck, gently brushing his thumb along her cheek. "I know better than to ask you to commit to…well, anything," he smirked.

"Smart ass."

"I want _you_, Mary. I want to be with you, any way that you will allow that to happen. So, tell me, Mary…What are we?" She shook her head and dropped her eyes, again. "Mary, you have to tell me," he pleaded. She still would not look at him. "If you don't, I'll wonder about it all night and then I'll come knocking at your door at four in the morning looking for the answer."

"It's dangerous to interrupt a good night's sleep, Marshall."

"I know." Mary felt a few tears slip down her cheek. "Life is more about the storms than the peace they seek to overwhelm." She looked at him then, understanding how to answer his question. "Mary," he implored one last time. "What are we?" He knew her too well. With the question so softly flowing past his lips, he was not asking her to say _the_ words, just _one_ word. One word would solidify the meaning of _the_ words. One word would bring change that, despite her trepidation, she could not imagine being negative. One word would give two people what they both needed.

One word would open her heart to the only man who ever truly possessed it.

"Marshall…We're…we're messy." Marshall pulled Mary into him, kissing her softly as his arms tightened around her.


	16. Chapter 16

**a/n: **The last paragraph of this chapter is a Frankenstein-ish mash of a few of Mary's narratives from the show. I enjoyed a bit of cut and paste : ) This is the last chapter of my little journey and I wanted to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. I had so much fun writing this story and I extend my appreciation to all of you for allowing my two cents to pink into the bank.

**But Life Does Not a Happy Ending Make**

**Chapter Sixteen**

_ "Squish, these are all starting to look the same to me," Mary said as she slid off the couch in search of a more comfortable spot on the floor._

_ "Here." Brandi handed her another magazine. "How about bridesmaids' dresses? What color should I pick?"_

_ "Oh, I think a light lavender would be so pretty," Jinx said with a smile._

_ "Lavender's good," Mary agreed._

_ "What about style? What do you like, Mary?"_

_ "Pants," she answered._

_ "Come on," Brandi laughed. "As my MOH, your opinion matters to me." She offered a cheeky smile. "Besides, don't you think Marshall would like to see you in something cute and sexy?" Mary tipped her head and narrowed her eyes._

_ "Marshall will see me in what he sees me in and like it," she stated. Jinx looked between her daughters._

_ "Is there something the two of you would like to share with your mother?"_

_ "No," Mary answered, suddenly very interested in the magazine._

_ "Mary and Marshall are seeing each other," Brandi smiled._

_ "I work with the man, Squish," Mary said, flipping a page. "I see him every day."_

_ "Fine. What word would you like me to use? Going steady? Courting?"_

_ "What century do we live in, Brandi? Geez."_

_ "Mary, that's wonderful," Jinx cooed. "Oh, I am so happy for you! When did all of this happen?"_

_ "Happen?"_

_ "Just before Mary was shot," Brandi interrupted. "I saw them kissing," she whispered. Jinx laughed._

_ "Look," Mary started, shifting her position again. "This isn't about me. We need to find Bridezilla here a dress." She tossed the bridal magazine to her sister. "Tell me, again - why can't you wear the dress from your first attempt at matrimony?"_

_ "It's bad luck," Brandi explained with a shrug. Mary nodded._

_ "Of course it is."_

Mary opened the door to the conference room and dropped into the chair beside Marshall. It had been two months since she returned to work and she still didn't feel that her mind and body had settled into a routine. With a loud sigh, Mary ran a hand through her hair and slid a folder along the table to her partner.

"Tired?" Marshall asked.

"A little," she answered. "I swear those bridal magazines suck the brain power right out of you." He laughed.

"Is it really that bad?" Mary looked at him and offered a small smile.

"I guess not. I just…I still feel kind of guilty. I should have been there for her last time, you know?"

"Mare," Marshall warned lightly.

"I know. I know. There was no way for it to happen." She shook her head. "But, if you would have asked me then if I would rather be with Brandi playing MOH or held hostage in a court house with people shooting at me…" She shrugged. "I would have picked the court house."

"And, if I were to ask you that question now?"

"I'd pick MOH," she said with a playful exasperation. "Mom's doing better, Brandi seems more grounded," she explained. "Things have changed." Marshall nodded and leaned back in his chair, watching Mary as she studied the information in her folder. She turned to him when she heard him hum thoughtfully. "What?"

"I'm waiting," he said patiently.

"Waiting for what?" He shrugged and she dropped her head. "Fine. It's that fact that things have changed. I hate change."

"There it is."

"'Hate' isn't even the right word," she continued. "I _loathe_ change. I _despise_ it. I find it to be the most insufferable thing on the face of this planet." She looked at Marshall. "Just thought you should know."

"That you hate change?"

"Yes."

"Noted." He waited a moment before opening his mouth and pushing on. "Why?"

"Because," she whined. "Because change always leads to no good."

"Come on. You know change really isn't all bad," he said.

"Um, yes, it is," she scoffed with a glance in his direction. "Change brought a fatherless home. Change brought an alcoholic mother." She turned to face him fully. "Change brought people like, like One-Eyed Dan into _my_ house." Marshall wasn't able hold his laugh to that, shuddering as he smiled. "Change brought a failed engagement, an ex-husband…"

"And, this list goes on?"

"And on and on."

"Change brought you Norah," he offered gently.

"Quit trying to refute my point." Mary turned back to her folder.

"Change brought you to the Albuquerque office, brought you me," he smiled brightly.

"See? Negatives! That's the spirit!" She laughed as the smile on his face faded.

"Why must you be like this?"

"Like what?"

"All crabby and, you know, you."

"I think you know why," she answered.

"It's your birthday, Mare," Marshall stated, leaning his elbows on the table. "It isn't about you."

"_It isn't about you_," she sneered. "You say that every year, Dip Wad."

"Yes, well, every year you seem to be in need of reminding."

"It's just a day," she argued. "Why the hell does everyone need to be so happy about it?"

"Despite your awe-inspiring and unparalleled ability to make people hate you, there _are_ those of us that are unaffected by your acrimoniousness." Mary rubbed her hand over her forehead. "It's a day for the few of us in that circle to commemorate our perpetual, albeit misguided, delight in your companionship."

"Christ, Marshall," she sighed. "What have I told you about using big words before I've finished my morning coffee?"

"No executing the exploitation of full-sized terminologies ahead of concluding pre-lunch caffeine-ification?" She turned to Marshall.

"Yeah. _That_." He offered an unrepentant smile. "No funny business today, all right? If anyone is planning a surprise party I want you to take my gun and shoot-"

"You?"

"Wh-No!" She shook her head in alarm and slapped his arm. "_Ass_ wipe! Shoot the person _throwing_ the party!" Marshall laughed.

"What if _I _am the one throwing the party?"

"Then you either don't know me as well as you claim to or you need to see a therapist about your ridiculous death wish." She smiled. "Maybe both."

"Spoil sport."

"Smart ass."

"Killjoy."

"Know-it-all."

"Stick-in-the-mud."

"Windbag."

"Ooh, good one." Marshall nodded his approval.

"Are the two of you finished?" Stan asked as he entered the room. Mary and Marshall simply stared at him. "Yeah, you're right. I know better than to ask," he mumbled. "All right. Can you at least call a truce long enough to get the skinny on the new witnesses?" The inspectors looked and each other.

"Stan?" Marshall laughed. "The 'skinny'?"

"Oh, Stan," Mary said, shaking her head. "Time to get that vocabulary updated. I'm sure if you ask nicely, Marshall will let you borrow his thesaurus."

"Hey, don't mock the most essential of language resources, Mare."

"Okay, okay, enough," Stan said as Mary stuck out her tongue. "The Merfelds," he started as he sat at the table. "Young, newlywed couple coming to us from Hershey, Pennsylvania."

"Ugh, newlyweds? Come on, Stan."

"What's wrong with newlyweds?" Marshall asked.

"Usually means babies within the year," Mary answered. She looked at Stan. "Seriously. We must have doubled the population of Albuquerque over the last five years with the newlyweds we have welcomed into the program." Marshall laughed and Mary narrowed her eyes at him. "What's so damned funny?"

"First of all, _you _have never _welcomed _anyone into the program. Secondly, there have been thirteen babies born into WITSEC in the last five years, Mare. Hardly enough to consider the population doubled."

"Way to show off your mad math skills, Pascal."

"May I continue?" Stan interrupted. "Zachary and Diane. Wrong place, wrong time. Three weeks ago, they were in New York City, enjoying their honeymoon. After a night out, they headed back to their hotel and, stepping off the elevator onto the wrong floor, they witnessed the execution of an undercover NYPD detective by a local drug dealer. Mr. and Mrs. Merfeld will be giving their testimony tomorrow in a New York court and then immediately flown to our wonderful establishment. We can expect them around one." He tapped his pen on the table. "I know tomorrow is Saturday…and that today is Mar-"

"Don't say it," Mary warned.

"Today is…what it is," Stan smiled. He looked pointedly at Marshall. "Don't let her stay out too late tonight."

"There's not going to be any staying out late, Stan," she said. "There's not going to be any _going_ out."

"Well, why not? This is Mark's weekend with Norah, isn't it?" Mary nodded. "Then you should be out celebrating your birthd-"

"I said don't say it," she interrupted, pointing a stern finger in Stan's direction.

"Don't worry, Chief." Marshall placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, shaking her playfully. "This surly attitude of hers will drain all of her energy. By the time our work day comes to a close, she'll be ready to hit the hay." She rolled her eyes and shrugged his hand from her shoulder.

"Okay. Well, that's…that's just sad," Stan nodded as he stood. "Read over your files. Let me know if you have any questions. We should be getting a few more details from the DOJ later this afternoon." He gathered his papers and left the conference room. Mary looked at Marshall.

"Hit the hay?"

"Would you prefer 'roll in the hay'?" he smirked.

"_You like my ass?" Marshall asked, his hands settling over the back pockets of his blue jeans._

"_No, that's not…Yes, I do like your ass. But, that's not what I said." Mary followed Marshall into the living room, two plates of pie in hand. "I said you __**are**__ an ass." She sat on the couch and handed him a plate. "There's a big difference."_

"_Aw," Marshall teased. "Were you scared?"_

"_Scared? I don't get scared, Marshall." She forked a piece of pie. "Yes," she answered quickly taking the bite._

"_You had nothing to worry about," he laughed. "No one was there to see anything."_

"_But they could have been," she argued. "Stan could have walked through those doors at any point."_

"_But he didn't."_

"_But he could have." She took another bite then shook her head. "You won't win this argument, Marshall."_

"_Do I ever win an argument with you?" he smirked. "Look, nothing happened, we were not caught." He pointed his fork at her. "And don't pretend you didn't like it." Marshall set his plate on the coffee table._

"_That is not the point."_

"_What __**is**__ the point?" he asked, scooting closer and taking her plate._

"_That we __**could**__**have**__ been caught," she reiterated. "Have you not been following this conversation?" Mary frowned and reached for the plate as Marshall set it on the table next to his. "Give that back," she ordered._

"_No." He grabbed her wrist and pushed her arm farther away. "You really didn't like it?" he pouted._

"_Marshall," she whined. She smiled softly, a light blush creeping across her cheeks. "Of course I liked it. I just didn't like your choice of venue. Of all the places you've tried to sneak a kiss…" Mary pushed against his hand, reaching again for her plate._

"_There have been a few," Marshall said, forcing her back with a little more strength. "Haven't there?"_

"_A few?" she laughed. "Let's see…First, it was the roof. Then, the balcony. Then, it was the elevator." She grabbed his hand, using both arms to shove his arm away. "Actually, __**several**__ times it was the elevator." Marshall twisted his grip, taking both of Mary's wrists in his hand._

"_Don't forget the diner," he added, laying his other arm along the back of the couch. He put his body into his next movement, crowding her into the cushions._

"_Yeah, the diner. And the SUV before heading back to the office." Mary started laughing as she struggled to free her hands and gain control of the situation. Marshall smiled and loosened his hold, allowing her to briefly obtain the upper hand. She pushed against his chest, roughly settling him back into his place on the couch. "Ah-ha!"_

"_Ah-ha!" he mocked. "I let you win."_

"_No, you didn't."_

"_Yes, I did."_

"_Whatever. You just don't want to admit that you were beaten by a girl." Marshall snorted._

"_You're no girl."_

"_Them's fightin' words, Marshall," Mary said, narrowing her eyes._

"_Hmm. If that's the way you want to play it, Mare," he shrugged. She tilted her head slightly, silently asking her question. He repeated her motion, acknowledging his challenge. Mary wasn't sure who moved first, but in her new position straddling Marshall's lap, she had the advantage and that was all that mattered. She had hold of one of his wrists, he had hold of one of hers and they pushed and pulled each other. "Are you even trying?" he asked as she tried to pin his hands over his shoulders._

"_Yes, I'm trying!" she huffed through a few labored breaths. "Damn it, Marshall!" she yelled. "Let me win!"_

"_Oh-ho, I don't think so." He let go of her wrist, placing his hand on her hip and shoving her to the side._

"_Hey!" she yelled as she fell back onto the couch. He positioned his body over hers, settling his hips between her thighs._

"_Not so tough now, are you?" he asked as he pinned her hands to the armrest above her head._

"_Very funny, Marshall." Mary pulled against his restraint but was unable to free herself. He leaned down, brushing his lips along her collarbone. "Marshall?" she drawled, her eyelids fluttering closed with the sensations his touch elicited. "What are you doing?"_

"_Nothing," he mumbled against her neck. He brought his lips to mouth and pushed his hips against hers._

"_I thought we were going to go slow, Marshall," she whispered._

"_Trust me, Mary," he smiled against her mouth. "We are going to go very…__**very**__ slow." Mary sighed against his kiss as his hands trailed down her arms and sides, his fingers skimming the skin just under the hem of her shirt._

"Yes," Mary nodded. "Actually, I would."

**^m*m^**

"You're sure there's no party?" Mary asked, turning towards Marshall.

"There is no party, Mare," he assured her, steering the truck into a right-hand turn.

"You better not be lying to me," she said, eyes narrowed.

"I'm not lying. Brandi started making plans but I talked her out of it."

"Promise?"

"Mary."

"Promise, Marshall," she ordered.

"I promise. Mary," he said, shaking his head. "If anyone knows and understands your disdain for all things celebration, it's me."

"What about all of that 'it's not about you' crap?"

"It's _not_ crap. It's not about you." He glanced at her. "But, that doesn't mean you need to be put into a situation that's uncomfortable for you." She nodded.

"I'm really glad someone on this planet understands me, even if that someone has to be you." Marshall rolled his eyes.

"Look in the glove compartment." Mary opened the compartment and smiled.

"Hey!" She pulled out a DVD. "'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'! The original. I haven't seen this one in a long time."

"Nor have I." He pulled into the driveway at his house and turned off the engine. "What sounds good for dinner?"

"I don't know. Chinese?" Marshall nodded.

"Chinese it is." Mary slid out of the truck, meeting Marshall at the sidewalk. As they approached the house, Mary turned the DVD case in her hands.

"Marshall? This is exactly what I wanted for my birthday."

"The DVD?"

"No, Numb Nuts. The quiet, relaxing night."

"Well, your wish is my command." Marshall slipped the keys into the lock but did not open the door. He turned to Mary, wrapping his arms gently around her waist. "Happy Birthday, Mare," he said, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. She laughed.

"Knock it off, Doofus." Mary gently smacked the DVD case against his chest. "Let's order our food and watch the movie so we can proceed to the rolling in the hay portion of the evening." Marshall hummed and pulled her closer.

"I like the way you think." After a quick kiss, he released her, following her into the house and through the short hallway.

"Surprise!" Mary stilled, eyes quickly taking in the excited faces of her family and friends. Confetti littered the air, and black and white balloons and streamers hung from every vertical surface. Jinx and Brandi blew into noisemakers. Mark, Peter and Stan stood to the left of the group, leading a loud chorus of 'Happy Birthday'. Delia held Norah, smiling as Joanna put a birthday hat on the little girl's head. Oscar sat obediently by Brandi's side, also wearing a birthday hat. Mary released a breath as Marshall moved to her side, slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Marshall," she bit. "You promised."

"I lied," he smiled proudly. Mary nodded slowly as her eyes wandered over the 'Happy 40th Birthday' sign that hung from the wall above the television.

"I _will _get you for this," she threatened.

"I am strangely looking forward to that."

_Choices come with consequences. Every time you make a choice, you also take a risk. It can hurt the people we love, the people we don't, the people caught in the middle. Perhaps the most difficult choices to make are the ones that deny us those things our heart wants most. What is unleashed in the soul when we love outside ourselves is sharp, unexpected and beyond words. Pie-in-the-sky magical thinking is replaced by a grounded, grown-up sense of wonder and the reality that something as simple as a sunrise can still surprise you. The trick, I guess, is to not find a way around the curve balls life serves up, but to live with them, accept one universal truth: life is messy. As it's been said, "Without reason nor prudence, the heart wants what the hearts wants and, more often than not, it will not be denied."_


End file.
